Stranger Than Phanfiction
by STRiPESandShades
Summary: One fateful night, it is revealed to Melodie Peterson that her entire life is little more than a fanfiction by the mysterious Phantom of the Opera. Now, Mel and Erik are desperately trying to make their escape from the grasp of the evil Author.
1. Mel

**Stranger Than Phanfiction**

**Rating**: T for Stuff You Kiddies Just Wouldn't Understand.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Phantom in any form, especially those referenced that include (but are not limited to):  
_Le Fantôme De L'Opera_ (_The Phantom of the Opera_) novel by Gaston Leroux: American Version Text © 1911

_The Phantom of the Opera_ Broadway musical as composed by Sir Andrew Lloyd Webber: First West End (London) Performance 1986

_Phantom_ novel by Susan Kay: © 1996

_The Phantom of the Opera_ film © 2004 as directed by Joel Schumacher and produced and composed by Sir Andrew Lloyd Webber

And most of all: All the fanfictions referenced and joked about throughout this piece. Those mentioned fanfics are my personal favorites and are worth a good look at and here and there will be references of other fics and their cliché bits with the Mary-Sues. Sometimes this happens on accident. Sorry. I claim no right to own any of them and YES there will be credits at the end!

**Dedication:** As always, I dedicate to my sister Kit, especially since she was the one to introduce me to PotO. I'd also like to thank Aiden's mom for taking us to see Erik on Broadway. As for Khaladie, prepare to be DiSTUUURBED. But most of all I would like to dedicate this to all the Phanfiction authors out there who don't have a word with their characters from time to time… well, I see mini-convos with a rather grumpy Erik at the end of some. From the good, the bad and the ugly-yet-still-loved Phantom, keep writing, you guys are awesome!

**How to Imagine Our Phantom:** Some stories make it apparent: movie-based phics have the Gerard Butler image of the muscular man; Leroux-based pieces have the spindly and icy Erik. However, this mash-up and semi-satire of all of these does not tie in to a specific Erik incarnation. While I make it obvious that he is icy and cold like the Leroux tale, certain parts may reference back to certain incarnations like how thin and spider-like his hands are etc. I do this to try to please as many fans as possible but hey, it's hard to do! So basically, whatever Erik suits you. I go into no detail describing his deformity just for that reason: Leroux and Kay phans can think of our skeletal and noseless Phantom while "Lord Andy" fans can think of their Gerry. Just one note for Leroux/Kay phans: his mask is described as only half all the time so for you fans that are awesome and kicking it old skool will have to split the deformities in half. A hint: just imagine him with the mask from the musical that covers his entire nose there. Also, this Erik is not a junkie. Sorry, Kay fans.

**About the Stuff Mentioned Here**: Much of the plot points, terms, and ideas part of this satire'ific fic come not from my own mind but from those of the honored writers. I have read many phics both good and bad and naming no names for either, I gathered plenty of info and ideas to inspire this. **To all the fanfiction writers out there:**_**Thank you!!**_

**Clarity On Infringement: **By all means if you truly feel infringed, notify me. I reread the ToS for light-shedding on whether or not this is completely legal and really, I hope you won't kill me as a reader or writer. I mean no infringement, monetary or other gain or commercial use of quotes, phrases or plot-points aforementioned in separate works. This is not meant to infringe but to pay homage to the great works in this category. Before you report me, I hope you will talk to me first so I can properly and personally explain how I really just want to show my utmost respect and reverence for the phanfiction. But if you must...

**Chapter One: **Mel

"It's far too late for a lady such as yourself to be out here alone," a voice said behind her.

She just kept walking; it was probably her imagination, simply her imagination.

"Shall I escort you home?"

So much for her imagination. The girl rolled her eyes; she hated it when people told her what to do.

"I can manage on my own, thank you."

"But I fear you may catch a chill…"

Suddenly warm, dark material wrapped itself around her shoulders, gloved fingers tying it around her neck. She fought the hands and spun around to see the mysterious stranger- but there was no one there.

"Who or what-?" she asked herself, turning back to walk on, when she bumped into a dark shape standing in her way.

"Oh, pardon me, monsieur, I wasn't looking and-" she looked up. The well-dressed man in front of her was very handsome, with a mass of shiny, dark hair combed back. Only the stark white mask on the right side of his face spoiled somewhat the impact of his appreance.

"Please allow me the honor of escorting you on your walk, there are bound to be worse people than me out here tonight," the man in front of her said.

She scanned her surroundings, full of silent shapes and shadows stalking the sidewalks and making not a single sound. Something in the back of her mind told her to believe him and that he wouldn't give this up.

"Considering you intend to follow me anyway, I suppose I must..."

A half-smile broke over the man's lips and he held out his arm to the mysterious woman. She ignored this gesture and kept walking, smiling inwardly as she felt the cape's thick material billow behind her, caught in the breeze.

Every step made her feel more and more awkward as her footsteps echoed down the silent midnight street, neither her, nor the strange man who walked beside her saying a word.

"Please, sit with me," he softly said at last, breaking the silence and gesturing to a bench.

She sank down immediately, intent eyes glued to the mysterious man, waiting for what he was about to say.

"Does this look real to you?"

"Why, yes, should it not?"

"I've lived here all my life, and it's always been as it is now, always exactly the same. I may be the only person here who knows why."

"And why is that?"

"Would you believe me?"

"Perhaps…" she could not have imagined what he was about to say.

"Something… interesting, something amazing happened here at the Opéra Garnier, almost a hundred years ago and ever since then, the tale of the Phantom of the Opera has been told so many times, and this is one of them."

"W-What? I'm sorry, I don't quite understand."

"This is a fanfiction, a retelling or different story from the original which happened here in 1911."

"1911? But it's only 1870..."

"You must believe me, it is truly the year 2009 beyond the story."

"Beyond the story? 2009? And how can you truly be sure that this even is whatever you called it?" she asked, in obvious disbelief.

"Fanfiction" he repeated softly.

"But, truly, what kind of proof-" She was interrupted by a soft finger below her chin, lifting her downward gaze to his gleaming sea-green eyes.

"You must trust me, I have lived many lives, some of which have come to an end at the hands of the one who wrote me, but none in which I could freely think. I need you, more than I have needed anyone. I need you to help me end this story, so you and I can be free." His eyes were deep and surprisingly kind beyond the strange half of a mask, but still, it was hard to believe him.

"How can I trust a man whose name I do not know?" she asked him, turning her head from the man's gentle but icy-cold touch.

"That's very true," he whispered. "My name is Erik." He left out the customary _but it hasn't been used for ages_, which was completely untrue.

"Have you no surname?"

"I have not. What may I call you?"

"My name is Melodie Peterson but I prefer being called Mel."

"Then, dear Mel," Erik lifted her hand to gently press it to his soft, tender lips, cool as ice, "it was certainly a pleasure meeting you tonight."

"I can only agree, Erik," she replied softly, blushing and looking down as he gently released her hand.

They said nothing for what seemed like forever, but the silence was far from awkward. There was simply nothing to be said.

Erik studied her, as she sat. She was tall for a girl her age - about 17 or 18, he guessed - with pale, soft skin dusted with faint, almost invisible freckles across the bridge of her nose. The eyes she'd dared to reveal to him were an intense blue-green and he couldn't help searching to get a glimpse of them again. Her russet, shoulder-length hair was straight, with just a hint of waves where it was piled over her shoulder. She was perfect, just as she was designed to be. Erik could imagine her voice, no doubt she sang like an angel.

An hour passed without a word. Sleep seemed to have taken hold of Mel when she wasn't paying attention, leading her deep into the darkness, alone and unguarded, even if only for what seemed a moment.

Noticing this at once, Erik knew he couldn't leave her here. He shuddered at the thought of what would happen if he did. Gently, he slipped his arms beneath her body and tenderly lifted her close to him. She was so warm compared to his terrible, awful coldness.

Thankfully the streets of Paris were deserted at this late hour and so no one saw the tall, masked man carrying a young girl in his arms. He knew she lived at the Opéra Garnier; she lived in a Phantom of the Opera fanfiction after all. Even finding her room in the dormitories of the Opéra was not difficult; it seemed as if he already knew. Down the hall, third on the left, it was hard to miss anyway. Erik smiled, imagining the fuss the cleaning ladies must have put up about the things stuck to her door with bits of wax - weird little drawings and various opera posters, even one for the _Bal Masqué_, the forthcoming Masquerade ball. Tucked behind the posters and papers were dried roses and other flowers but what stood out most was a half-sheet of parchment with the words "Mel's Room" in the curliest script he'd ever seen.

After a moment of digging through her small reticule , he found the key and the door swung open.

For all the decoration and extravagance put into the door, the room was rather plain in comparison. A thick sketchpad sat squarely on her wooden desk, and a handful of pencils beside it looked about to roll away from the proud quill master in its high inkwell throne, observing the desktop kingdom from under its pompous plumage.

He gently laid Mel on the bed in the back of the room, tenderly tucking her in under the soft blanket.

_She is so lovely__,_ he thought as he gently pressed his lips to her forehead.

It felt very late when the Phantom returned to his candlelit lair. He tossed the thick cape in his hand over the back of a chair and, failing to notice that he had a visitor until the last second, was about to grab a composition from the top of the organ when he glimpsed the movement from the corner of his eye.

Lounging on one of the sofas was a feminine figure toying with a black silk ribbon tied in a bow around a very red rose.

"Hello, Erik."

**A/N:** Well, now that you've gotten through that whole monster of a chapter I'd like to welcome you to my newest project that has been in the works for well over a year I suppose. Originally a My Chemical Romance bandfic (a _banned_fic) about the fanfics of the band, I decided to move on to Phantom. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter and I could love your reviews!

Also, special thanks to my kickass Beta Reader **Goth Angel UK **for her help, support and helping me fix my quote-ending punctuation fal!


	2. The Author and NotSoSweet Intoxication

**Chapter Two**: The Author and Not-So-Sweet Intoxication

"So, have you met the new girl yet?" the woman asked

"Who, Mel?" he asked, looking up from scattered papers dotted with red ink, seeming unfazed by the whole deal, "Yes, she seems… nice"

"Maybe she'll be the one to help you out of this one, maybe she's the one" the figure sat up, placing the rose on the low table in front of her  
"I can only hope so; I don't believe I can take any more of this…" he said, sitting down on the sofa beside the odd woman

"Erik, Erik, Erik… sweetheart, you were _made_ for this. How can you complain? You've been around for- what? - a hundred years or so? And a hundred years ago you _died_ for that stupid cow Christine Daaé!" she stood, looking down at Erik "Now look at you, we, the phangirls have given you everything, and asked only for one thing in return,_  
Do what I ask of you…" _she sang softly

"I appreciate what you've done, STRiPES, but I-"

"Don't. Say it. You want _freedom_; you want to get away from the story. You want to get away from me" she rested the backs of her warm fingers to his exposed cheek. The touch burned, but Erik didn't complain, he remembered much worse experiences in painful clarity. The Author's very presence within the story burned away the fictional fabric, the true "fourth wall".

She leaned in and gently gave Erik a burning peck on the lips, "I don't want to lose you" and she disappeared in an instant.

_This time it will be different_ he thought fiercely, _This time I _will_ be free_

* * *

A knock awoke her.

"Melodie? Are you in?" a man's voice called

Melodie? Everyone knew to call her but Mel, no one really used her full name

"Who is it?" she asked back pleasantly. Perhaps someone important?

"It is Erik, Melodie, please let me in"

"Did I not ask you to call me Mel?"

Erik smiled behind the door, "I believe you did, _Mel_"

The door swung open

"I thank you. I was simply wondering if you would join me for breakfast before you kicked up a fuss about _names_"

"Were you now?"

The little café just outside the Opéra wasn't empty, but Mel didn't think it was all too busy. They were sat down together at a small table by the window and despite all appearances, Erik didn't mind the sunlight. The waitress smiled sweetly, like she _knew_ something as they were handed their menus. Erik was very surprised that she was completely unfazed by the man in the mask, even within this odd reality. Rumors of the famed Phantom have no doubt been gossiped about in the Café De L'Opéra, she should have been terrified and call the gredarmes, Erik thought, _Something is very wrong_

"So… Erik…" Mel started, trying to make some kind of conversation

"Yes?"

"Do you have any family in the Paris area?" she asked awkwardly

He put down his menu and shook his head, "I used to. My father, Gaston Leroux lived in Nice and my mother, Susan Kay was from the UK"

"The what?"

"The UK. Oh, that's right, you don't know about that. The United Kingdom is England, Scotland and Ireland. And Wales… I believe"

"All-All right…"

"Then, I was adopted by my idiot of an Uncle, Andrew Lloyd Webber. Granted, he made me whole lot sexier but…"

Just before a confused and astonished and wide-eyed Mel had time to wonder what kind of surname Erik had despite his insistence he had none the night before, The Happy Waitress swooped in

"What can I get for you, sweetheart?" she asked with a pasted-on smile

"I'd like the breakfast special and a mimosa for myself, thank you" Mel replied, handing her the menu

"Nothing for me, thanks" Erik said next

"Make that two mimosas then" Mel corrected

"Are you trying to get me drunk, Melodie?"

"Mel. And why, do you not drink well?"

"Probably better than yourself" he said, but regretted his words immediately, covering his mouth with a gloved hand. "I'm sorry, forgive me-"

"Would you like to make that a bet?" the girl asked with a Cheshire cat smile that scared Erik just a bit

"Is that a challenge?" he growled fiercely

"Why?" Mel replied calmly, downing her mimosa with large gulps, "Are you going to take me up on it?"

The setting changed again to an hour later, this time they were sitting at the old pub down the street, the air heavy with cigar smoke, the worn wooden counter littered with little shot glasses.

"What were the conditions on winning again?" Erik asked, swallowing back another mouthful of burning liquid, overturning the empty glass on the counter with the rest.

"Looser has to pay for all this and the winner gets bragging rights of defeating _The Opera Ghost_ in a drinking contest!" Mel replied gaily, tossing back more drink and flipping her own glass beside Erik's.

He laughed out loud at that, "How do you know you're going to win? After all, it would be very unladylike" he asked, tossing back even more

Mel merrily laughed right along with him.

The barmaid hated to see her characters drunk, especially seeing as she wasn't a drinker herself, but this was taking too long. She swept the counter clean of the many glasses with a hand, dumping the things onto the wooden tray she held on her hip, giving a sharp look at the masked man seated by the counter.

Erik hiccupped, feeling suddenly sick to his stomach and turned around, aware of the presence behind him.

He immediately knew who it was, even as she was not wearing her glasses. No one in this century had hair like _that_, cropped to her mid-neck and colored a violent, unnatural yellow that burned darker orange in stage lights with thick black streaks framing her roundish face. Her necklaces too looked out of place, she wore two of them: one was a dragon made of a silver metal encircling a star with some kind of white stone in the center, the other was a pewter claw wrapped around a blue glass bead.

Mel knocked back one last shot, laying her head against the counter, looking everywhere but towards the woman, as if she wasn't even there.

"Your friend doesn't look too good" the barmaid said, "But don't worry" she continued, "If you take her home, she'll be fine, and no one will see you on the way there. Poor thing's been so _curious_ about you" she pronounced, gently stroking the girl's hair before forcefully grabbing her by her tresses and lifting her head up to stare into her face.

Erik gritted his teeth, already he felt a bit… protective of Mel and he hated to see her at the mercy of the Author.

"Take her home, Erik. Bring her across the lake" she ordered, opening her hand immediately of the handle she made of Mel's hair, letting her head fall to the counter with a slight bounce

The Phantom took orders from no one but was suddenly compelled to do the Barmaid's bidding

"Lay her down and tuck her in tight. She will be fine in the morning"

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**A/N: **"_Go to your room. Play with your _toys _and your _costumes" oh, yes, did anyone recognize that Very Jareth Moment there at the end, _Labyrinth _fans? Anyway, like many, many, most of my other works, there has to be a scene in a bar. I really should stop changing my hair so often, I've had to rewrite my description three times since I wrote it. Also, this chapter was going to be a choose-your-path before I reread the Guidelines.

Anyways, special thanks to **BleedingHeartConservative **for her review!! (even though she was the **_only one!!!_** )_) Review and Erik will make you a batch of cookies!!


	3. The Flaws Of A MarySue

**Chapter Three:** The Flaws of a Mary-Sue

_It was cold, soft and cold. Not wet, not moist, just cold. In the darkness, it pressed itself against her forehead gently and then, it was gone._

She awoke in a room she didn't recognize. While small, it seemed cozy and rather warm for its size instead of cramped or confined. Pushed against the left wall was a dark wooden dresser topped with two carved stone bookends and many mismatched books and in the corner beyond that was a large wardrobe. What caught her attention most, however was the dark nightstand immediately to her right holding a melted candle with a note and a rose propped up against it.

She picked up the rose first, the soft, delicate red petals gently caressing her fingertips as she explored every inch of the perfect whorl of a blossom. Putting down the rose, she next picked up the note, a simple piece of parchment edged in black ink. The red script was messy and looked far too measured and labored like the writer was trying hard to do it right, but in the end it all looked clumsy.

_Melodie_ it read. She was going to kill him for using her full name

_Do not be worried, you were not feeling well and I believe you fainted so I took you to my home which also lies within the Opéra. Fear not for your well-being, you most certainly will not be taken advantage of. Feel welcome to explore about as I am out at the store and will return shortly. _

_Your Friend,_

_Erik_

Pondering what O.G. stood for and why Erik had crossed it out after putting it before his name, Mel explored around the little room.

The makeshift bookshelf was what had intrigued her most, at first; she got up from the warm, soft bed, pushing back the heavy, red bedspread and straightened her rumpled dress she'd worn to the tavern making her way to the dark, wooden dresser.

The first thing she noticed was the bookends which were carved of a dark grey stone, two angels with stone wings spread wide, their cold, slender arms raised into the air as if their very words commanded the heavens. At the backs of the splendid beings stood a tall line of books, some thick, some thin and quite a few had bright ribbons marking pages within. Looking at the spines, Mel whispered aloud the titles of these tomes,

"_Of Everything and Nothing_, _My Hidden Angel_, _Ashes to Ashes_" but she stopped there looking to the names of the authors below them, curious names that didn't seem _right_. None of them were proper names, no first name, no last, some she couldn't even pronounce. Even a few had numbers in them. However, the one book that caught her eye and intrigued her most was one named _Stranger Than Phanfiction_. It seemed odd, and curious but just before she could take the volume from between the mighty angels; there was a knock at the black door on the right wall.

"May I come in?" a very familiar voice asked

Mel smiled, she knew who it was. She stood and straightened her gown and called to the door, "Yes, you may come in"

The door swung open to an image that Mel never thought she would have seen but a night before. The dark, masked man looked pleased, almost pleasant which was weird for Erik, he wasn't used to feeling so _joyous_

"I see you're feeling better" he said, trying to make a little awkward conversation, sitting on the edge of her unmade bed

She sank down next to him and nodded, "Yes I am, thank you" her arms were crossed instead of folded in her lap like a lady.

"By the way, do you mind me asking what work you do here in the Opéra? Forgive me for being curious"

"Oh, no I don't mind at all. I am an apprentice costumer; someday I want to design for the productions"

"Really? I am curious to see your designs"

"I would be glad to show you"

The conversation was far too polite and careful, which made Mel feel quite awkward.

"Would you sing with me?" he asked suddenly

Her eyes looked up with a flick

"Pardon me?"

"If you had not noticed, I compose sometimes and I would be deeply honored to have a partner to sing with as I have been quite alone for some time"

Alone for some time? She wondered how long… she knew she couldn't- but for Erik she would try

"That sounds… wonderful, Erik"

The organ was soft, the organ was sweet and the notes seemed to dance below his spindly spider fingers.

A bony finger pointed to the top of the sheet, its master announced "We will start at the top of this system but you rest the first two bars for an intro"

Immediately she was frightened by the nightmarish red blobs and lines that were unmistakably music notes but it translated to nothing in Mel's mind. Well, that one started up high so she should start up high and there's a four in the time-thing so four beats to a bar? Maybe this will work out okay. She opened her mouth and some kind of musical screech came out

Spider hands smashed the keys with unbelievable force and frustration making such a sound that Mel rushed to cover her ears

"What was _that_?" he roared

"I-I'm sorry…" Mel trembled, she'd sung it wrong, completely wrong and now he was upset with her. Her head hurt in what she suspected was a delayed hangover effect from the other day and she just couldn't take it

"You should be! What did you think you were singing?"

"I don't know…"

"You don't know? Don't know?! How can you not know, it's right there in front of you, are you _blind_?"

She shook her head, "Forgive me, Erik, but I am a costumer, I am not musical! If I wanted to sing I would have joined the chorus long ago"

"You dare mock me, child?" he asked loudly

Her nostrils flared with anger now, "I am no child. I am leaving"

The Phantom laughed now, "And how do you propose that? We are on a lake, child"

"I am not a child, Erik! I am already a woman!" she shouted, "And I don't know how to get out of this _nightmare!_"

As hard as she fought it, and she was winning a loosing battle for a while, a tear welled in her eyes, the large silvery drop rolling down her cheek. This sudden display of her emotion shocked and scared Erik, he made a woman cry!

"Mel I-"

Too late, she ran into her room, the protective door giving a satisfying click, she wanted to hear no more.

…

He slipped between shadows, inwardly smiling as he danced through darkness. Her door was open and made not a sound as he slipped in

He had no idea why he was compelled to perform this tender ritual nightly as she slept, it seemed very _creepy_ to do so, especially when she was asleep, but none the less, he had to do it. Perhaps it harkened back to his Leroux roots, the final event that proved to be the crux of the final chapter of Erik's first life. He knelt by her bedside and with soft, leather gloves, his fingertips trailed up the back of her hand and he slipped his hand into hers. He gently cleared her forehead of fallen bangs with shaking fingers before he gently pressed his cold lips to the bare flesh. She seemed so lovely…

* * *

**A/N:** Oh, the drama of Hungover!Unmusical!Emo!Mel. And like many, many phanfictions, there will be Patterns! Crying! and Sleepovers!In the lair.


	4. Ayesha's Fault

**Chapter Four: **Ayesha's Fault

"Here, Ayesha, psssst psst psst" Mel softly patted the ground as the kitten delicately licked a paw. Her head turned and she padded to the girl. Mel held out her fingertips and the cat took a tentative sniff, then ducking her small head beneath the girl's open hand. Mel pet her gently, giving Ayesha a good scratching past her left ear. Somehow, she seemed to forget all about her captivity with the Phantom, "You're a very pretty kitty, aren't you? Aren't you?" she cooed

"Yes, I acquired her late in the Paris streets one night, she is lucky to be here" Erik said, not looking up from the sheet music he was editing on the stand above the keys

"She is very lucky to have someone sweet and kind to care for her" Mel replied, seemingly forgetting what happened the previous night.

Erik blushed; no one had complimented him like that before. Sure, remarks were made on his music, his architectural pieces on the Opera house itself praised, but no one had ever called him _sweet_ named him _kind _before.

He gave no reply; instead he left his beloved organ to kneel opposite Mel, petting Ayesha along with her, the well-loved kitten purring so very loudly.

"I'm sorry about last night" he started

"No, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have agreed to sing if I didn't know…"

"Well, I'm sorry to have given you the impression as to the fact that you had to do something you didn't want to"

"Well, I forgive you"

"I just don't want you to think of me badly"

"I simply guessed that you were also hung over"

"I was frustrated, forgive me"

"Have I not already said I forgive you?"

Silence. Awkward silence. Then suddenly she said,

"You know you may take the mask off by now"

"Pardon me?" What did she just say? His cold hands stopped absently stroking the cat

"I don't mind in the slightest, and I can only guess that it must be terribly uncomfortable" she said but had no response

_If only she knew how right she is_ he thought. "You must safely trust in me that I will never inflict you with the horror of this monster"

Mel looked down, a little ashamed "You don't trust me then" she whispered softly, but regretted the words as soon as she said them

A finger slid below her chin and tried to turn her eyes to him but she ignored this gentle touch and turned her head the other way. The hand shamefully recoiled, its dismayed master close to tears. "I trust you Mel, I trust you with my life…" for the first time he could remember, Erik was at a loss for words

"I was only thinking of you" she replied, rising and turning for the refuge of the kitchen. At least vegetables and herbs didn't have a chance to jump away, untrusting. Heaviness built up in her chest with every slow, careful step, leaving her gasping for oxygen and fighting through silent panic as her back slid down the counters by the wash-basin.

…

"Mel?" the door swung open with a slow, spooky creak. "Mel?" he called into the room with increasing concern.

She was slumped in the corner by the basin with an almost deathlike pose as she lay. He flew over to her side and pressed his fingers to her neck. Her pulse was beating, but only just. Suddenly, her eyes tore open and she gasped loudly, coughing and sputtering in a fight to breathe again

"Erik!" she called at last through frightened gasps

"Mel, what happened?" he gently pressed a hand to her chest, trying to help her to breathe easier

"I-I don't know" she stuttered, "I just came in here and… and I couldn't breathe"

He wrapped a hand around her shoulders and slipped a hand beneath the crook of her knees, gently lifting her in his arms.

Realizing he was doing so, she wriggled in his arms in protest

"Aaaah! Put me down! Put me down _this instant!_" she shouted with a tone that would be associated with one's mother. She fought so hard that he feared he'd drop her so he moved faster towards the sofa where he unwittingly dumped her

Mel trembled; she _hated_ it when she was picked up!

Erik however was wondering how a character so far from a Mary-Sue or Christine Daaé who would die to be lifted in his arms could be created to despise his so-called "precious care"

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**A/N:** Kay!Erik phans (more use of the !) here's your shout-out. Apparently Ayesha likes Mel a lot better than Christine. Also, if the author of "Mingled Tears: Tales of a Living Wife" is reading this, _**yes**_ I just quoted you! Love to all my reviewers and of course I'd love to have more!


	5. Day by Day

**Chapter Five:** Day By Day

Months? Weeks? Who knew how much time passed but no matter what, the sheer compassion Mel had for Erik and the secret and subtle affections Erik had for her kept Mel close to the Phantom. Day by day she was awakened by the sounds of Erik's rapturous pipe organ exploding with the kind of music that made her want to dance, to sing. In a house without clocks and irritating alarms and bells, it was the most wonderful thing to wake up to. She would dress in her plain gown and throw her hair up in a ribbon before grabbing her thick sketchpad stuffed with material samples. Rich silks, creamy velvets and other luxurious fabrics peeked through the pages kept close to the thick pages with straight pins flaunting bright red heads.

Day by day, her trust in the man grew, she wouldn't mentally question where he was always sneaking off to when she still lay awake or why she thought she'd seen his shadowy figure in the wings and ropes of the stage. She even began to understand all the threatening notes sent to the managers of the Opéra. But day by day she found no response to the trust and kindness she gave the Phantom. Every morning after she dressed she would sit beside him on the organ bench and try to make sense of the mess of red notes and watching his spiderlike white hands dance across the white and black keys as he didn't even acknowledge her presence. Day by day she would sigh and stand up, not saying anything to him, day by day. She would ask questions and try to gleam a tiniest bit of Erik's personality but would receive the shortest and most unelaborated of responses. Day by day she wondered how he really felt about her. But for weeks, maybe months this all continued day by day. But day by day she felt closer to him and little did she know that she was inching along the ultra-sped plotline day by day.

And day by day he only wished he could let her in and let her be close to him. But day by day he knew it wasn't real and that nothing was real and day by day his faith in this reality sunk like the Titanic.

But day by day they were both sure of one thing. Day by day, night by night she always felt his icy lips on her forehead whether she was playing a possum as asleep or whether the tender touch fell through this fake fiction into the distorted world her dreams.

Day by day he made sure he kissed her goodnight

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**A/N: **Oooooh, yessss the Emo!Montage!Chapter. Hey, it's a phanfic and it must be done. And no, there _isn't_ much detail on Mel's work as there's hardly any focus on the jobs the OC's hold.  
I appologize profusely for the tardiness of this chappie!! Busy! I've been busy!


	6. Trust Beyond the Mask

**Chapter Six:** Trust Beyond the Mask

"Why are you so untrusting of me, Erik?" Mel asked softly, sliding a hand below Erik's strong chin, "You always wish for people to trust you, and you already know I do," she continued, her voice quickly growing in strength "I trust this man that lives underground, _I believe_ in the Phantom of the Opera. But I wonder, does the Phantom trust _me_?"

He found his hands to her hair, the tumble of wavy red hair so soft, so comforting to trembling ice-cold hands

"Mel, I am sorry, so sorry for being so untrusting of you, but I'm not sure if this is _real_, if this trust, these feelings, if anything is _real_. I want it to be, but I know it isn't."

"It _is_ real, Erik! It's all real! You can feel me, my skin my hair, you know that you can touch things and that you aren't completely numb to it all. I'm here, Erik, I am real. Can you believe this; can you _trust_ in me, that this is all so perfectly real?"

"I want to believe it" he whispered softly, looking away from her imploring eyes and gentle touch to his chin

"Please, Erik, we are in this together. All I ask, is but a little trust"

He suddenly turned to her, his alluring eyes alight with interest, worry and a dab of wet tear

"All- All right. I trust you, Mel"

She nodded slowly, realizing with a fluttering and heavy heart what this meant to her. She reached up to his face, not his icy, exposed cheek but to the forbidden white porcelain, sweeping fallen strands of hair from the top of the mask, dancing fingers tucking themselves beyond the Phantom's façade. Hesitating a moment, the mask released from master and the horror of Erik finally revealed.

She didn't scream. She didn't look horrified or angry or disgusted. She didn't even so much as flinch. But, after all, she was a being of Phanfiction, a thing of the Phans that was meant to be oh-so-accepting of the terrifying Opera Ghost.

"I-I'm sorry" he whispered, ashamed at his very face, his own being

"Sorry for what? Do not apologize, Erik, there is nothing to be apologetic about" she replied kindly, a small smile playing on her lips

"Yes, there is," he growled furiously "I am apologizing for the annoyance of our meddling creator that made you so damn _understanding_, so damnably comfortable with this horrible face!" Mel's smile dropped like a rock, a little hurt by Erik's words but still he continued to roar, "You shouldn't be nearly this kind, I am an ugly _monster_ designed by my very _father_ to be insane and ugly and sickening yet, somehow I find you to be comforting about it! You are nothing but a Mary-Sue that feels nothing and is designed only to comfort the beast in my character!"

Angry tears sprung to Mel's eyes, fury and hate clouding her eyes.

"How DARE you? _How dare you?!_" she screamed, "I have been nothing but a friend to you and you treat me like this?!" She stood and made leave for her room, a loud slam and confirming click of a locked door echoing across the lake.

She felt like suffocating herself in the pillow she now punched screaming with such rage and anger and didn't want to stop sobbing for a long time. Suddenly, long awful notes screamed through the walls of her room in chorus with her cries, the most terrible organ music playing so deafeningly.

"WiLL YOU SHUT UP THAT AWFUL MUSiC?!" she screamed at the top of her lungs, throwing one of the books on the dresser against the wall, the music stopping suddenly at a smash of the keys

Now a terrible dread stabbed through Erik's heart like a deadly icicle that seemed to eat him alive. Had she really meant that? No one had ever called Erik's music "awful" before. Maybe- maybe he should talk to her.

He slowly crept from his room, stealing himself between the shadows. Was it too soon to talk to her? Maybe. Would she even answer to the door? Only one way to find out. He took a deep breath into his cold, dead lungs and knocked on the door with bony knuckles. The door swung open, which was so surprising; he'd heard himself that she'd locked the door.

"Mel?" he called softly into the room, "Mel?" he asked louder

It was then when he noticed the little piece of parchment propped against the pillow of her bed that was perfectly made up for the first time since she'd been there.

He picked it up and had to keep himself from screaming or breaking something, scanning the curly purple script

------------------------------------------------

**A/N: **dun-Dun-DUUUUUUUUUUUUNNNNNNNN!!


	7. Beginnings of Reality

**Chapter Seven:** Beginnings of Reality

_If you are looking for your "Mary-Sue" it is unfortunate to let you know that she is not here. I have taken her far from this place, and you know very well where she is being kept. If you ever want to see your story's main character again, come and find her but be ready to negotiate on __my terms__. _

The violet-edged note read, mocking him with everything it had. Erik wondered a moment if it was even wise to even pay her ransom. What if she died? It would be some sort of release to relieve himself of another Mary-Sue of a character. Would he even miss her? After what kind of soft, _cuddly_ reaction she gave to his monstrosity, he wasn't even sure. What would happen to the story? Then he noticed the curly little "PTO" near the dark purple edging on the card. Many "phans" didn't even know that "PTO" stood for "please turn over" but _this_ Erik's Author was far from unintelligent. He flipped the little thing over to reveal more curly purple script:

_Every moment you wait means torture for the innocent girl that wanted nothing more than to care for you and heal your hurts while you turned her away. Also consider the fact that if you allow her to die, you will live with eternal guilt and that the story will continue with your misery and remorse as the Readers watch, if you are so selfish to think of your own benefits while she hurts so much. _

_Also, my salary of twenty-thousand francs is due._

_Regards,_

_The Author, Lady STRiPES_

It was true, how Erik selfishly thought of himself while Mel was no doubt being tortured by that vile Author.

"Are you quite comfortable?" she asked sweetly

Mel nodded, "Yes, thank you Miss Author" her voice was soft and breathy

"Please, call me Meg, after all I think you're going to be here a while, Erik is being so… _indecisive _and I want to get to know you better, after all you _are_ my character"

"Your name is Meg? It is very similar to my name"  
"Yes, I know." She replied, sitting on the couch beside Mel "Your name is actually a mix of my name and a friend of mine, her name is Ellee. Put them together and you get Mel. Originally, you were a character of a different fandom, from a My Chemical Romance fanfiction about the band. The plot was very different but there was still the same premise about being stuck in a fanfiction"

"Really? That's interesting, I never quite understood my namesake."

"Mmhmm, that's how you got your name. By the way, I'm still deciding what Erik needs to give to get you back, any ideas?"

Mel shook her head furiously, "I don't think I even _want_ him to come for me, especially after what he said" tears were now welling in her eyes remembering him roaring in her face, "All I wanted was for him to _trust_ me and I was being kind and understanding…"

"Boys are like that sweetie, even fictional ones."

"Really?" Mel asked incredulously, "That's terrible!"

"Well, Erik was written to do that kind of thing, he has moody issues and in some versions of the story he escaped from a prison for the mentally insane."

"What?" Mel stood up from the couch, "Erik is _not_ insane!"

"No, I just think that he has been badly scarred and hurt by people in general and it's… changed him," Meg then laughed, "Some of the 'phangirls' wonder if Erik is a woman, after all he gets all PMS-ey"

Mel laughed until her stomach hurt, "That he does!"

"Perhaps we should gift him some Midol for Christmas!"

The girls laughed together for hours at a time

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**A/N: **Will Mel ever return to Erik or we gonna hang and kick it for ever and ever? TUNE iN NEXT WEEK!

Sorry about the delay, folks, my internet has been down into the black despair! Thanks to all my reviewers and Story+ people! 3!


	8. What is THAT!

**Chapter Eight: **What is THAT?!

"W-What is that?" Mel asked loudly, a fearful, shaking finger pointing to the yellow rubber mass

"What is what, Mel my dear?" STRiPES, Meg, the Author replied

"Th-That!"

"Oh! That's a rubber duck! It's a plaything for the tub, just a silly toy, you know?"

"Then why does it look like-"

"Erik? I just thought it would be funny,

_The Phaaaaaaantom of the Opera  
Is a ruuuubber duck!"_ she sang, then bursting into giggles, "If you want to take him into the bath with you, you need to undress him too, the clothes I made for him can't get wet, dry-clean only, you know? By the way, never touch the _real_ Erik's laundry either; I learned that lesson the hard way. I thought I'd do him a favor to throw in his dirty old cape in the wash with the rest of my darks and well," she sighed, "That did _not_ go well. He swore at me Persian and wouldn't talk to me for weeks on end"

"Erik _swears_?" Mel asked, astonished

"Oh yeah, plenty! What did you _think_ he was saying?"

"I have no idea but sometimes he would hit a wrong note or drop something and shout something funny really, really loud"

"Yep, that's him swearing in Persian, or some other obscure language. Sometimes I have no idea what he's saying. Anyway, your bath is ready, have fun!" Meg smiled and closed the door behind her, leaving Mel to wonder why Erik hated The Author so much

…

"What is that?"

"It's a carriage… more or less, but instead of having horses, there's a mechanism inside that makes it move"

Mel was astonished, "Really? How does it work?"

"Honestly, I have no idea. I pay someone else to lie to me and fix it"

"What? Who would lie-?"

"They really don't, it's just a thing about how mechanics lie to women"

"Oh" she replied, still not understanding but trying to get the gist of this weird new world

"So, hop in"

"Hop?"

"Just get in the car- carriage. Pull the handle and the door opens"

"Oh!" it was a whole new world of all new metal doors on carriages and Mel wasn't sure if she liked it.

Twisting a metal key in a hole set below the great wheel, the entire carriage was alive with the music that seemed to come from a fiery fiddle

"I love this song!" Meg exclaimed, turning a knob to her right below a bright display of numbers, making the music even louder

"Where is that coming from?"

"Oh, that's right! See, in the future of Reality, there's a way to record music so you can listen to it over and over again without having someone play it" Mel was astonished. Without someone playing it? How could that be? "Right now, the radio station's on, a way of sending the music through the air. The station chooses the songs and there are people who talk about them. But right now it's my favorite song: 'The Devil Went Down to Georgia'"

Overcoming the thought of such a "station" Mel gasped, "The Devil?" Although she was not a Christian in any way, shape or form, she made the sign of the Cross over her shoulders just in case. Being here in Reality and especially after what happened, it all seemed to strip her of the fight and fire of her heart, leaving her but a soft, delicate lady.

"_The Devil went down to Georgia  
He was lookin' for a soul to steal  
He was in a bind, he was way behind and- _Jackass-! Did you see that? He ran a red light!" Meg shouted, interrupting her singing

"Did he?"

"Yeah! Oh, a red light means you have to stop before you go on"

"Oh, really? Well, what a jackass!" she swore loudly

"Mel, sweetie, I know I told you to, but don't swear, curses don't become you darling"

"O-Okay. By the way, where are we going?"

"Sakura Sushi, I want you to try some maki and saké"

"Mah-kee and sah-kee?"

"Maki is a kind of sushi and saké is a Japanese rice wine"

"I see. What is soo-shee?"

"You'll see, it's a bunch of rice and fish rolled up together, you'll like it"

"I-Is that red stuff in the center…?"

"Fish, yes, it's tuna"

She poked the squishy red mass with a finger tip, "But it's _cold_… is it supposed to be cooked then served cold…?"

"Nope"

"Then why-"

"Sushi is raw fish. Don't worry, it isn't as bad as it sounds, it's really good. Drink more saké, it'll make you feel better about it"

Mel threw back another tiny cupful of the burning rice wine in a gesture she remembered all too well. Looking down at the little piece of fish wrapped cozy in its den of cold rice and some black wrap she didn't dare ask what it was, she made her decision. She picked up the tuna roll and popped the whole thing in her mouth.

_Reality Rocks_ she thought to herself as she took a swallow of sticky rice and tuna, _Or at least this fictional version does_.

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**A/N: **Because I wanted an incident with a rubber duck, because despite the fact that my flat is in Boston I was not about to take a character from 1850 on a high-speed train and because in this fictional version of Reality I don't hate sushi, that's why. If you're asking, that is.


	9. Call Me When You're Sober

**A/N:** Hello, all! I appologize for the delay, I have been sooo busy with summer reading, summer love and summer in general! Because of this I have put certain fics on hiatus. Fans of my other fics should check the list on my profile. I am please to announce that STP is **_still in progress_**. Breathe. It'll all be okay.Also, soundtrack to this chapter should be obvious. Copyright 2008? Evanesence. I own nothing. Amy Lee is the awesome!**

* * *

  
Chapter Nine: **Call Me When You're Sober

_Mel_. He couldn't forget her no matter how hard he tried. A book left on the sofa with a bright ribbon proclaiming a saved place among the pages. A dried up rose left on the nightstand, an affectionate flower gifted to her almost a week ago. Scraps dotting the desk in the back of the room beside an open sketchbook and a pincushion stabbed with needles. These little things he found of her, scattered around the house carelessly, couldn't help but remind him of what he'd done. Erik felt so guilty after what he had done, and there had to be some way to fix it. Contact the Author, find her and get Mel back; it was such a tall order, and he could have sworn he was walking into a trap.

With a sigh, he dropped down on the bench before his organ, his large, awful organ. Its pipes seemed cold and unfeeling, it's keys as demented as its master. He ignored his pipe organ, its imperfect knobs rusting slightly at the edges; it's sweet, seductive keys. His first love was now but perverted and insane. For now he needed his Melodie, and the music now didn't matter. Not one little bit.

::-…-::

The lights were off. No one was there. The dark made Mel feel so uncomfortable, but those harsh lights of future time were all but charming and alluring. A rough scratch and burst of flame created a match alight, held beside the wick to burn before being waved out in the shadows behind.

The room around her wasn't the living room, but the hallway that brought the spare room and upstairs to the living room and reminded her immensely of home. Both walls were lined with panels of full-length mirrors, interrupted only by breaks between the clean glass sheets with wall upholding candle sconces awaiting to be lit by careful Mel and her [long fireplace match.

She was angry. So angry. The ferocious beast of hate would have eaten her through if there had been no memories, no happy memories to shatter but Mel remembered clearly the soft way he spoke of her, the gentle way he regarded her. How could he have treated her like that?

Moving to the stereo at the end of the hall, Mel knew just what song to play. For some odd reason, Meg's playlist seemed to be engraved in her mind's song library, almost as soon as they returned from Sakura Sushi the night before. The songs from My Chemical Romance to Tokio Hotel to show tunes from "Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog" became instantly recognizable, the lyrics begged to be sung despite the lack of voice that lay within the woman's lungs.

The song began and she screamed with all her might

_Should I let you fall?  
__And loose it all  
__So maybe you can remember yourself_

He knew he needed her. But this was beside the point. He despised the _need _for her, he hated through his dependence on her affections. For so many years he'd been paired with Christine Daaé who lit his fictional heart with bland, unhappy joy, or the Mary-Sue who only led him to the same. With those women he had to be someone else. He had to be the gentleman, he had to be the beautiful composer, he had to be… he had to be… someone he simply wasn't. Someone he didn't care for. But with Mel, he did not. It was the most grateful relief when he could reveal himself as the _character_ in development, the fiction, not the man. But with Mel, he _wanted _to be a gentleman; he _wanted _to be someone beautiful to her. He wanted to be… someone he was not. He had to see her.

_Can't keep believing  
__We're only deceiving  
__Ourselves and I'm sick of the lie_

The glass of the mirrors spiderwebbed, glass shattering with careful cracks that came slow, and far too graceful for the horror of a broken mirror. She screamed, she sang with more force and more voice than she could have ever imagined. She'd been _docile_ she'd been _innocent_ when in Reality, keeping all this to herself but now the song was bursting through her.

He didn't need a key where he was going. He was welcome any time. The Author who loved him did not greet him at the door, so he stepped inside, astonished at what he saw as he took a right into the hallway

_And you're too late!  
__Don't cry to me  
__If you loved me  
__You would be here with me_

The glass ceased it's slow, patient break and simply exploded at the crescendo of song, slivers of mirror flying past like glistening diamonds.

Mel's voice was astonishing. For a girl who claimed she could not sing, for a woman who said herself that she was not musical, she held a passionate and ravishing voice that seemed all too familiar to Erik. He ducked for cover in the safety just beyond the doorframe to the living room, watching in awe as she went on unaware of his presence

_You want me?  
__Come find me  
__Make up your mind!_

The shards flew faster, stronger and closer to her body, marking red lines across her cheekbones as they striped her, arms and legs. The glass stung, the pain finally reaching her numb, delayed reactions. Why won't it stop?

Erik watched on in awe as her willowy body danced in the forced wind.

The silver diamonds slashed x's over where red, dripping lines were already drawn, but Mel would stay strong and stay standing. But the mirror-glass had other ideas. One final shard, one larger and prouder than the rest launched itself at Mel, slashing her across the chest and left her kneeling on the ground, the music stopping at last.

"Mel!"

"Erik?" Mel's eyes lit up with some emotion. Anger, fear? "Erik!" she stood up immediately, pressing herself against the wall, as far away from the Phantom as she could, wincing in pain as she did

"Mel, you're hurt"

"I'm fine. What do you want?"

"I… wanted to see you again" he reached out with gloved fingertips to touch the red streaks across her cheeks but she darted even further away. His hand recoiled shamefully, "I- I wanted to ask for your forgiveness…"

Mel turned her head, her cheek bloody as she surveyed the damage she'd done, all the fight gone from her. "I don't know, Erik… I just don't know"

"Please, Mel… I am sorry. I am so, so sorry, and there is so much I want to say to you…"

"Then say it!" she winced again, taking in a sharp breath and clutching her bleeding chest, falling to her knees choking.

"Mel! Now is not the time… you're hurt Mel" he knelt on one knee beside her

She didn't answer, pain twisting in her eyes.

"Mel… Mel!"

The last thing she saw was her name on his lips.


	10. Kiss Me

**Chapter Ten:** Kiss Me

The setting changed as Erik gently lifted her from the floor of broken diamonds, returning to his candlelit lair. The red ribbon in the book seemed to move on its own like a living thing, welcoming its mistress back. With an elbow, he pried open the door to her bedroom. The pale blue walls trimmed in white originally designed to please the airhead Christine Daaé were suddenly swelled with the personality of the girl in his arms. Red bits of wax held various sketches and designs, vibrant opera costumes and a few everyday outfits. Tenderly, he softly placed Mel on her bed. Upon closer inspection, Erik noted that some of the sketched models were of _him_, various cloaks and suits and masks gracing the Populaire's favorite Phantom. But one sketch seemed to catch his eye. A man, a very handsome man with shoulder-length brown hair was modeling some kind of long, tan coat. It couldn't be! The Vicomte wasn't even _in_ this story!

"E-Erik…" her voice was frighteningly shaky

"Mel?"

"Y-You wanted to tell me something?" she asked

She seemed so weak, so vulnerable lying there on the bed. Who would have guessed that the meek girl beyond many bandages had caused mirrors to shatter with her own voice only but less than an hour ago? He gently swept her forehead of strands of hair plastered to her skin with a mix of blood and sweat and pressed his lips to her flesh.

"You're hurt, Mel… when you feel better"

"You always…" her voice was breaking, "You always kiss me… on the forehead… even when I'm not awake. Why?"

"I think it has something to do with my original roots in the Leroux novel… there was a whole scene that involved a kiss on the forehead. How did you know that?"

"I can always feel you in my dreams and you always turn my nightmares to fantasies"

He was shocked, but it was true. From start to finish such a little kiss had so much impact

"Will you promise me something?"

"Yes, Mel?"

"Will you kiss me… on the lips some day?"

Maybe it was story-induced feelings but he was suddenly compelled to fulfill that promise someday  
"Yes, yes I will! I promise… For now, I wish you sweet dreams" he whispered softly, getting up and about to blow out the candle

"Wait- don't leave. Please"

He stopped, "Are you well enough to stand?"

She wriggled beneath the covers, wincing in pain as she did so

"It hurts to move"

"Then allow me"  


* * *

  
**A/N: **Are you drowning in fluffiness yet? The best is yet to come  
Also, I am implementing a contest: Those of my regular reviewers know about the mini-story about Erik and the Cookies and Various Other Emo!Baking!Fiascos. (Hi Dragonfly2224!!!) Anyway, it's really hard to keep track of who is where in the story. So, you must do even better than be an awesome reviewer. From now on, every chapter or so will have either a song lyric or song title or reference or something. If you can connect the references by fandom, lyrics by song or song titles by artist, ERiK WiLL BAKE YOU COOKiES!!  
But, not to sound ungrateful, you still have all my thanks and praise for your reviewing. Erik, however, needs to be convinced a little more.... *siiiigh*


	11. Tremulous and Tender

**A/N: **Is anyone actually still reading this? (I see you, Kabraxes ^,^) I haven't gotten a review in a looooong time, you know that I would really appreciate it! Oh, and this chapter's everything you've all been waiting for: _**FLUFF and lots of it!**_  
**

* * *

  
Chapter Eleven:** Tremulous and Tender

He gently lifted her into his arms and she didn't object this time as he carried her into the main room of his underground lair.

"Mel, I have missed you," Erik whispered, sinking into one of the sofas surrounded by candles

"I've missed you too" she whispered back, looking deep into his sea-green eyes.

He still held her on his lap, an arm wrapped around her battered shoulders and his other hand interlaced in her scarred and reddened fingers.

There was nothing to say between the two of them, her eyes simply spoke volumes, so deep and full with love, caring and understanding. No one, _no one_ had ever looked at Erik like that. Tears welled in his eyes, just at the thought of it. A gob of wet fell, the fat drop rolled down his icy cheek gracefully with almost measured steps until a soft, gentle finger wiped it away. Gracefully, that finger became three, gently stroking Erik's cold face, softly and gently. After but a moment, his hand was wrapped around hers, bringing now frozen fingers to his velvety snow lips and burning hot breath, before she allowed herself to wrap her arm around his shoulders as he pressed her small body closer to his chest. He could smell the heady scent of her hair, the fragrance intoxicating poor Erik until their gentle silence was broken

"I'm sorry, Mel, I am so, so sorry. I never meant- I never meant to call you a Mary-Sue and I know you are far from a heartless blonde like them" he murmured softly, his hand fell through her generous wavy tresses, pulling through the soft silk of her red-brown hair, "Perhaps someday you will forgive me"

She pulled away slightly and looked up into his soft, glassy eyes; "Erik I-" a cold fingertip on her lips silenced her and she was pulled into his icy shoulder once more, his hand on the small of her back.

_So STRiPES was right_ Mel thought to herself bitterly _when she told me he won't kiss me. I guess "someday" must be very far from now_

Before her indignant thoughts could ruin the perfect moment, his chilly lips brushed her ear,

"I promise you, Mel, nothing like this will ever happen to you again, I promise. No one shall harm but a hair on your head. I _will_ protect you"

His chilly arms were wrapped around her, she didn't object to this frozen blanket of protective snow that held her so close, she almost felt it comfortable, refreshing to be within his arms.

"Thank you… Erik and I already forgive you"

"Shhhh" he whispered softly, shushing her with a sound that nearly made her shiver, "Are you not tired?" he asked

She wasn't before, she'd been sleeping a while, but as soon as he said it, a wave of exhaustion washed over her, sleep was exactly what she wanted, what she _needed_.

"Yes, I am"

Erik wrapped his arm around her shoulders and tucked his elbow in the crook of her knees, standing and lifting her up and carrying her into her room.

He gently placed her on the bed, tucking her in tenderly below the thick bedspread. He gently brushed away fallen strands of hair before pressing his lips to her forehead once more and blowing out the candle on the nightstand.

_I am wrong_ Mel thought as he closed the door to leave her in perfect darkness, _Erik__is what I want. __Erik__ is what I need_.

Her eyes slowly closed as she dreamt of her Phantom.


	12. Know Your Enemy

**A/N:** Special shout-out to DollyMillionare and her "Virtuoso" and to Dragonfly2224 for being the ONLY ONE to hear so far of the hilarious adventures of Emo!Baking!Erik.  
**

* * *

  
Chapter Twelve: **Know Your Enemy

_Homage to:_ "Virtuoso" by DollyMillionare

"Monsieur, if you are not a part of the production, you are not allowed back here, we need all the space we can manage" Mel told the well-dressed gentleman standing in the wings who was obviously not a part of the Opera.

"Actually, mademoiselle-!" one of the managers stopped her, grabbing her upper arm and spinning her around, "_You_ do not order the new patron about as such and he _is _allowed back here. Get back to work" he ordered coldly

Mel hung her head and nodded, "Forgive me, _monsieur_" and she sped away

ONE DAY LATER

Erik tried to hold back a scream as he groaned and clutched his temples.

"Erik?" Mel called, looking up from her book, noticing what was happening at once, "Erik, what's wrong?" she stood and sat beside him on the organ bench, wrapping an arm around his cold shoulders

"She's- She's changing the plot. For a while I knew the ending was coming closer but- she extended it" he cringed again, eyes screwed tightly shut

"Extended the ending? What is she going to add?" her hand gently rubbed his back, his well-toned muscles of his shoulder blades

"She's going to start… with the original plot, _my_ original plot but still debating whether or not to involve Christine Daaé into this"

"Christine Daaé? You mean that girl in the ballet?"

Erik suddenly looked up at her, wide-eyed and a little frightened, "You know her?"

"Well, not _really_ but once in a while I have to deliver costumes to the _corps de ballet_ and I see her there"

"Maybe then-"

"Christine won't be in this" a third voice said suddenly

"Meg!" Mel ran over to the Author who sat at Erik's other side and threw her arms around STRiPES in an embrace, "It's so good to see you!"

"I know, great to see you too!"

Erik said nothing but was looking very surprised. _Good to see you_ wasn't the reaction he expected

"I need to talk to you guys" the Author said, "About this new plot I'm working on. Erik knows what's going on, but you've never been through this, Mel. You see, in Reality there is a musical- like an Opera with some spoken dialogue- with Erik in it which is the most popular version of him, especially the Gerard Butler move version, _yum_! Anyway, so this musical has a very famous plotline and the show has been around for the longest time, it's actually the longest-running show out there and I'm putting you guys in there. That is, Mel, if you agree to it. You _know_ the songs, I know you remember my whole playlist, but there is a whole lot of singing involved."

"Singing?" Mel asked fearfully, "I don't know…"

"Don't know what?" Erik asked, "If you can?"

"Erik, you know I'm no opera star. I can't sing for the life in me!"

"You know that's not true" he took both her hands, "That night, when you were in the Author's version of Reality, I heard you, I heard you sing

_Don't cry to me_

_If you loved me_

_You would be here with me_" he sang softly, his angelic voice echoing over the lake, "You have the most beautiful voice I have ever heard, more amazing even than Christine, but that was to be expected… but Mel, I know you can do this, I need you to."

She looked up, "Need me?"

"Mel, I have seen the end and it isn't pretty. It will be here, soon, if you don't agree to this, and I really… I really want to spend more time with you" he brought her small, warm hands to his icy lips, "Please, Mel"

The Author leaned forward and looked at Mel around him, "It's not going to be easy, but it's your choice"

Mel looked back at Erik, his golden eyes pleading, "Fine, I'll do it"

…

New Managers? Rumors had flown that Monsieur Lefevre was retiring but no one besides the gullible ballet rats believed any of it. That is, until now.

Firmin and André seemed eager as they were led onstage but their enthusiastic smiles became more and more morose as they were shown around the cast, their sullenness became especially apparent as they were introduced to the Populaire's Prima Donna, La Carlotta.

As soon as she was sure the whole introduction procedure was finished, Mel had to run backstage as fast as she could, running around to deliver costumes, capes and masks to various sides of the stage, changing rooms and the actors a moment away from their scene. She was so late! When at last she could stop and catch her breath, she was positive this must have been one of Carlotta's worst performances yet. But she could have sworn, as she stood below the high wooden boards where the ropes and lasts that held up the various backdrops, she heard voices, and a loud groan from what sounded like a large man

"_It's alright, I just shocked his knee caps, that's all,"_ a woman's voice assured

What could that even mean? Curiosity overcame her and Mel quickly scrambled up the ladder

"Erik, are you up here?" she called

A dark shadow was furiously sawing at a thick rope with a pocket knife

"Erik?" the female voice asked, a pale hand grabbing at one of the shadow's coattails "You not going to drop that on her are you?"

"You mean Carlotta?" Mel asked

The shadow ignored them both and the female voice seemed to not even notice Mel as the sawing continued with flashes of silver. The body that presumably belonged to the female voice reached for Erik's knife, making a daring leap for the silver blade but was too slow, and Mel had only a second to reach over the edge of the flies to grab the rope as it trailed down, holding the extremely heavy backdrop in her hands for only a moment before the strong, thick rope burned through the palms of her hands, crashing down mere inches behind Carlotta who screamed with a piercing, Operatic note.

"It's him, the Phantom of the Opera!" Meg Giry cried. How would she know Erik?

The Phantom himself rushed to the other side of the narrow flies to catch Madame Giry, Meg's mother wandering below, searching above for the Opera Ghost. As Erik moved, Mel got a good look at the other woman, she was taller and seemed older than Mel, about in her twenties with reddish hair not unlike Mel's but longer, about shoulder-length. Most noticeable about this woman, however, were her spectacles rimmed with silver metal that glinted in the lights. Erik took only a moment to toss a note sealed with a skull over the edge and down to the Madame before snatching both of the women by the wrist and tugging them forcefully into the shadows.


	13. Going Under

**Chapter Thirteen: **Going Under

It shouldn't have been a problem! If only the bastard would've left her alone. But now, every shadow seemed to stalk, to give chase as the Phantom and his parade of darkness came after the idiotic jackass, turning the whole of the stagehand's domain into a dance with death

"_I need to come through the flies to deliver costumes without being seen by the audience. Will that be a problem?"_

"_Oh, no, of course not, lil' lady"_

He knew he shouldn't fight her battles for her but after she punched him in his beer belly and a backhand to the face nearly sent him over the edge of the ropes bridge he knew she wouldn't mind. The race began as the asshole finally realized that the hunt was on, the Phantom's night enveloping the second act of _Il Muto_. And to think Erik angry would be a dangerous understatement indeed. After hearing the vile man whispering vulgar things in his sleep, gossiping with the stagehands over his ugly plans for the costumer, there was no hope left for this man. Grabbing her in the nether regions in the first act simply carried it too far. The thick rope slipped over his neck and he pulled, smiling brightly and enjoying the moment.

"Erik?" Oh, god, there she was, standing there incredulously in the dangerous trail of shadows.

He pulled the rope tighter, trying to finish before she could see but she stepped closer, the boards squeaking. Quickly, he drew a knife with a thick black plastic handle and shining silver edge, plunging it… so much blood…

"Erik? What's going on?"

What is done cannot be undone. The body dropped below the flies, descending onto the twirling ballerinas dancing their steps, a sign from the Heaven of darkness to the innocent world below, red splatters dripping like Hell's raindrops.

"What have you done? Erik? ERiK?!"

…

Mel sped by him without a word, ignoring him. She really didn't feel like getting yelled at again.

"Mademoiselle, where are you going?" he asked, stopping her as she gave a sigh

"To the roof monsieur, I go there sometimes to think" she replied

"After tonight?" he asked, "That does not seem wise"

"And you are not one to judge my actions, _Monsieur Le Vicomte!_" she replied sharply, turning up the spiral staircase and running higher and higher. She knew the Vicomte was still following, but what she didn't know was the shadow that trailed in her footsteps, silent as a ghost

She threw the door open to the silent, white night, snow falling softly like dancers to the ground

"Why do you still follow me?" she asked over her shoulder, "Did I not ask for _royal personage _in his high throne to leave me be?"

Her words stung and hurt which left the Vicomte dismayed, head hung

"You dropped your jacket on the way up and I assumed it was rather cold out" he told her sadly, tossing the tan mass of cloth that she'd designed herself, her creation of needle and thread. He turned for the door

"Oh" Mel replied, suddenly ashamed of all the awful things she'd just said, "Wait!" he stopped, "I'm sorry… it's just… after tonight's events, I suppose everyone is tense? However… I know that is no excuse for what I had said so in that I make my formal apology"

He nodded gently, "I understand and accept your apology"

"Thank you"  
"I only hope that the Phantom will not also take you, I hear he always takes the loveliest of the women workers" the Vicomte joked

Mel blushed, "Thank you for your kind compliments, however, I don't believe the _Phantom_ as you say will dare take me prisoner once more"

"Once more? You mean he has taken you before? I thought the Phantom was a superstition and I simply jested"

She shook her head, "Taken me? What are you talking about, I said nothing of the sort! But no, the Phantom is no superstition. Let us just say that we have met before"

_Met before_ was an understatement, _Let us just say_ was hardly the case. Erik hid like the shadow he truly was behind the infamous angel statue on the roof of the Opera, knowing precisely what scene this would replace and what musical number would be here. But Mel was not Christine and not falling for the idiot de Chagny.

"I see. Then I hope this meeting was pleasant and such an awful creature has not harmed you" the Vicomte replied, concerned

"Well, I'm still here, am I not? So there is no need to worry" she told him

He blushed, looking down, "I see, then forgive me for my concern"

"The Phantom is… a curious person. For all we know, the Opera Ghost could very well be a woman. I was taken hostage through one of the darker hallways by a person who did not speak or show their face. The only way I could tell I was taken by the Phantom was when I awoke the note left on the table beside me bore a note similar to the ones the managers received: red, messy letters signed by OG"

She was lying about the whole thing. That never happened. And Erik knew he _definitely_ wasn't a woman.

"Oh my! That must have been terrifying!" the Vicomte gasped

"It was. But that was the past and-"

Suddenly, some kind of screeching notes were heard from below along with the familiar score of _Il Muto_

"It seems that the Opera is still being performed" he mused.

"And it seems that I am needed" Mel replied.

Together, they headed down the stairs to the stage floor. How sweet.

Erik felt sick.


	14. See the Light

**Chapter Fourteen: **See The Light

She could finally feel the sun and he was happy for her. Happy, but alone. Mel continued with her job, sketching the outfits that were to clothe heroes, designing gowns for princesses but mostly doing the small things that an apprentice was to do, hem this or stitch the seam to that. Pins here and cut this much there. Mostly, it was unexciting busy work that had no meaning but held a lot of joy for Mel. This was her job and once she became a great costumer for the opera, it would become her livelihood.

And she was happy. She had close to nothing now, she left most things down in the dark, dank cave that the gruesome Phantom dwelled in, but when she thought aloud, _I wish I hadn't left behind my sketchpad, I sorely need it_, she would find it the next morning on her desk. Intrigued and a little startled by this, she even tested who was listening and to what extent.

"I wish I didn't left so abruptly, I left behind my lip rouge!" Mel exclaimed, knowing very well that she could not afford such things.

The following morning brought a brand new stick of rouge in a shade she liked very much.

It also seemed as if the Vicomte took special interest in the costume designers, popping in every now and then which made the diva, La Carlotta jealous and the ballet dancers uneasy. Only Mel knew why he came every day. He seemed so bright and enthusiastic, with a bounce in his step that was so unlike Erik but she was drawn to his happiness and his joy at joy. It was sweet and endearing and truly brightened her day to see someone being actually happy with some kind of bright outlook of the world. He would say hello to everyone sewing frequently but tended to linger at her sewing station as she beaded things or fixed a ripped seam, asking what she was doing and how things were going and her opinion on the new management and where her future seemed to be here and- wait, what did he just ask?

"Tonight, at the opera _Faust_, my brother has a previous engagement and I have a free seat in Box Five. Would you care to join me?"

"Forgive me, monsieur, but I am but a lowly costumer- not even, an apprentice. Surely you have others to come before inviting me."

"Melodie, have you taken any notice? I like you and I would enjoy your company tonight more than any other"

Mel blushed deeply at his compliment, "I suppose I am attending the Opera tonight."  


* * *

  
**A/N: **Hehehe, aren't they so cute together? EC shippers beware, upcoming are... _treacherous waters_. Also, cookie-wanters note another chance in this chapter title! Hint: 21


	15. Easy to Ignore

**A/N: **There's a reason why I love my readers. For the whole month of November, instead of writing this fanfic, I'm going to be writing a novel for this contest called NaNoWriMo. It will be insane and I won't be able to update! This means that _**EVERY FIC IS ON HIATUS!**_  
But I love you guys so for compensation, I am uploading _two new chapters_ and going to the **_last of what I have prewritten_**. Meaning I'm in a bunch of blowfish. Cause I love you guys.  
**

* * *

  
Chapter Fifteen: **Easy to Ignore

The familiar overture was playing as she smiled so gleefully, sinking into a soft, velvet seat of luxury she only imagined. And Raoul smiled back at her, joyed by her joy and astonishment.

Dresses had been delivered but she could not bring herself to wear them. She knew where they came from. Instead, a set of sleeves from one, bodice trim from another and corset from an entirely different piece, Melodie Peterson wore a thing of her own creation and oh was she so pleased.

Slowly, the gas lights faded to dim and stage lights began to glow to reveal the stage she and the stage crew built by their hands.

"_Mel_"

Nothing.

"_Mel…_"

Simply nothing!

"_How can you return to my own private box on the arm of the story's enemy?_"

Simply her imagination!

"Are you all right, Melodie?" Raoul whispered softly, his breath tickling her cheek.

"I'm fine" she hissed back, "I- I thought I heard something"

"Heard something?"

"Voices, it sounded like… I'm not sure… it might have just been echoes from the hall"

"It most likely was simply other patrons arriving late and being ushered to seats" Raoul assured her kindly. He didn't even seem to belittle her for her worry but try to comfort her.

"Of course"

A whole act passed before she heard the voices again. The Vicomte left for moments, mere moments while Mel sat alone in Box Five waiting for Act Two to begin.

"_You are sitting in my seat, Mel_"

Melodie daren't reply.

"_You ignore me, dear Mel when you have already proclaimed your love to me and became entwined in fictional worlds by my side. You betray me, you desolate harlot and sit in my own seat in _my box! _You will curse this day, Melodie that you do not do all that the Phantom has asked of you!_"

"Melodie?"

Shivering. She couldn't help it. Mel knew exactly who the voice was. Mel wanted to reply if it didn't make her out to be a mad witch. Melodie stayed silent.

"Melodie, you're shivering!"

"I heard the voice again!" she announced, "And I am positive it was not from outside or below or even the box next door! It seemed as if the voice was right beside me… as if the person belonging to the voice was standing right beside me in the box! What if the rumors are true, Raoul? What if the Phantom truly haunts this box?"

"Melodie, Melodie, sweet heart! The Phantom is but a superstition, dearest, things to scare the ballet dancers! There is nothing to worry for, I promise"

Dearest? Sweet heart? Did he even hear what he was saying? Could he see her blush? Could he tell how she tossed words about in her mind trying to form what she meant?

"I- I-… promise?"

"I promise you, Melodie, so long as I am here to protect you, I will do as my best. No voices, phantoms or mistreating stagehands will harm a hair on your head"

-:: ~-~ ::-

Oh, wasn't that all pleasant and romantic? His arm was around her shoulders as the lights dimmed. Dots of shining candlelight lit on the left pillar of every box and gas lights glowed on the edge of the aisles between seats. It was dark, softly lit and the aria that began was a soft, sweet romantic song complete with a set of a giant, wooden moon and gentle clouds. Beautiful white horses collected the seams of the scene tended by handlers dressed up as little cheruby angels.

Erik didn't cry.

Phantoms don't cry.

Phantoms stare for too long, taking in the hurt and betrayal set before them time and time again knowing, just knowing that other Phantoms have it better with Christine Daaé, Meg Giry, phan-brats, anyone.

Phantoms try not to scream or let themselves be seen, growling through the Opéra and scary patrons to their dark, abysmal lair.

Phantoms don't cry. Or scream. Or weep.

Phantoms sing.

Phantoms plan.

Phantoms scheme.

Then Phantoms weep.

They have all been betrayed at one point or another.


	16. Sad Song With Nothing to Say

**Chapter Sixteen: **Sad Song With Nothing to Say

"How can you ignore me so, Melodie?" a shadowy voice asked from nowhere.

Mel rubber her eyes, tired from a day of work, a night of Opera and exhausted from playing emotions.

"My name is Mel, Erik" she reminded him "And it's quite easy. Watch."

"That's not how the Vicomte knows you!" the Phantom interjected

"Maybe not but you call me Mel!" she rebutted sharply

"What do you see in him? He is only but a pretty face"

"Don't you ever say that! Raoul is smart and funny and kind…"

"And handsome, let's not forget that"

"Well, yes…" Mel mused, and then realization came over her, "What are you getting at?"

"You clearly are so opposed to me because I am not as handsome as he"

"That's not true and you know it!"

"Ah, but Mel, then why did you leave me? There seems to be no other reason"

"Is there?" she shouted incredulously, "Is there really? Maybe the fact that you _murdered_ somebody comes to mind? The fact that you _enjoyed_ killing another like some kind of gentleman's hunt?" her mouth flew open in awe, realizing at once what it all meant. "You're a monster, Erik"

He hid his shock and tears. Is that not what Meg Giry, Christine Daaé, _Jenifer_ of all people said? "I am no monster and you know it" he replied weakly

"You kill for sport and fun! You- you-! Murdering bastard!"

"_Insolent boy, this slave of fashion__  
Taking all that you are!  
Ignorant fool! __This brave young suitor  
Sharing what is truly mine!_" his voice surrounded her.

"_You are a murderer!__  
You betrayed me!__  
I am finished being so oblivious!  
In your arms I was so naive  
I listen not to your lies!_" she pushed back with a rougher note, a more sour voice.

"_Why child, you know I would never__  
Speak to you untruths  
__I have taught you well, my songbird  
How dare you be so uncouth?_" closing in.

"_Phantom of darkness__  
Leave me alone__  
I need you no longer!__  
Phantom of death__  
Leave me be  
I am no longer your lover!_"

Ignored her. She ignored him.

"_I am your Angel of Music!  
Come to me, Angel of Music!_"

His voice was closer, closer like he was practically singing in her ears

"_I am your Angel of Music!  
Come to me, Angel of Music!_"

"Stop! What are you doing?" Mel cried. Closer, closer.

"_I am your Angel of Music!  
Come to me, Angel of Music!_"

"Stop! Please stop!" he was inside of her, reverberating within and without her

"_I am your Angel of Music!  
Come to me, Angel of Music!_"

"Stop, stop, stop! Cease your singing!"

"_I am your Angel of Music!  
Come to me, Angel of Music!_"

"Whose is that voice? Who is that in there?" a third voice growled angrily. The locked knob of her door shook fiercely

"_I am your Angel of Music!  
Come to me, Angel of Music!_"

"NEVER!"

"Melodie!" the third shouted

"Raoul! Raoul help me!"

"_I am your Angel of Music!  
Come to me, Angel of Music!_"

She collapsed, the music filling her leaving her empty, kneeling and crying on the ground

"Stop… please…" she whimpered

"_I am your Angel of Music!  
Come to me, Angel of Music!_"

"MELODiE!"

"Raoul!"

"_I am your Angel of Music!  
Come to me, Angel of Music!_"

"Raoul… please…"

The door flew open. The music stopped. She was shaking.

"Melodie… Melodie!" the Vicomte rushed to her, "Melodie, are you all right? What happened?"

"I…" she sobbed, "Am called Mel; my friends… all call me Mel"

"Mel, what happened?" he asked again

"The Phantom…" sniffle, "The Phantom of the Opera!"

"Mel…" he repeated her name softly as he wrapped his warm arms around her and held her crying eyes to her shoulder, "Shhhh… it's all right, Mel. I promised you the Phantom wouldn't harm you, did I not? Shhhhhh" he hissed again, running his hands tenderly along the length of her back, "I have a mansion in a village on the outskirts of Paris. I think you will like it there and I am positive my brother, Philippe will not mind you there. You can come live in a separate wing of my home and I promise you that it will be on a friends-only basis. I want you to be my friend, Mel. Friends help each other. And I want to help you"

"Y-You do…?"

"Of course"


	17. The Two Men For Mel

**A/N: **For my spectacular return to Stanger Than Phanfiction, I give you: SONGFICS!  
The first song is Erik's and the song is "Here With Me" by Dido  
The second song belongs to Raoul and it's a classic, folks! "Sweet Child o' Mine" by Guns n' Roses

**The Author's Guide to the Following Chapter:  
**The following songfics were designed specifically to fit well into the timing of the songs. Yes, there are a few kinks but it can't be perfect. This means that YES! You _can_ listen to the song and follow the fiction at the same time! Load it up on Youtube or music player of choice and listen while reading! The lyrics are the italics and the straight words are the actual story, each told by the respective point-of-views of Erik and then Raoul. Enjoy!  
**

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Chapter Seventeen: **The Two Men For Mel

_I didn't hear you leave _ You just did. I tried to make you stay.

_I wonder how am I still here _ Waiting._  
And I don't want to move a thing _You left everything here._  
It might change my memory _Everything but you.

_Oh I am what I am _ A monster, you said_  
I do what I want  
But I can't hide _ This mask…

_And I won't go  
I won't sleep  
I can't breathe  
Until you're resting here with me_

_And I won't leave  
I can't hide  
I cannot be  
Until you're resting here with me  
_

I never sleep. Can you see, can you tell, Mel that I'm thinking of you? Every day there is something to remind me. You're still here.

_I don't want to call my friends _ What friends?_  
For they might wake me from this dream _You left me in._  
And I can't leave this bed  
Risk forgetting all that's been _I'll never forget you

_Oh I am what I am  
I do what I want _ I kill, I hunt… I'm a monster_  
But I can't hide_

_And I won't go  
I won't sleep  
I can't breathe  
Until you're resting here with me_

_I won't leave _I can't_  
I can't hide _ I won't_  
I cannot be _ Something I'm not_  
Until you're resting here_

_I won't go _Mel_  
And I won't sleep _Melodie…_  
And I can't breathe _Please…_  
Until you're resting here with me_

_And I won't leave _Don't you know?_  
I can't hide _Can't you see?_  
I cannot be _I_  
Until you're resting here with me _Love-

* * *

_She's got a smile that it seems to me  
Reminds me of childhood memories _The grove and the villa and the house by the sea_  
Where everything was as fresh as the bright blue sky  
Now and then when I see her face  
She takes me away to that special place  
And if I stared too long  
I'd probably break down and cry_

_Oh, sweet child o' mine  
Oh, sweet love of mine_ Love… what a wonderful word

_She's got eyes like the green of the sea  
As if they thought to be free  
I hate to look into those eyes  
And any kind of plea  
Her hair reminds me of a warm safe place  
Where as a child I'd hide  
And pray for the thunder and the rain  
To quietly pass me by _The old Maple tree that never blossomed full reds and oranges like the others

_Oh, sweet child o' mine _The melody of Mel  
_Oh, sweet love of mine _Beauty, love abound_  
_

_Oh, sweet child o' mine _Those who knew better  
_Oh, sweet love of mine _Would call this 'love'  
_Oh, sweet child o' mine  
Oh, sweet love of mine _But how really to know?

_Where do we go  
Where do we go now? _The sky's the limit, dear Melodie  


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**A/N: **Alright, now that "Sweet Child" is wrapping up, I'd like to let all of my amazing readers know that _I finished my novel!! _Why do you care? Because in celebration, expect a whole 'nother chapter this Friday! Awesome, innit?  
I'd like to welcome back all of my readers, both regular and sporadic and also all the non-reviewing readers who Favorited this story, anyone Storymarking this and all readers old and new! It's official, people  
_STRANGER THAN PHANFICTION IS **OFF HIATUS!! **_


	18. Mary Sue to the Rescue

**A?N: **Alright, I'll admit it. I completely forgot about the Friday update. The Author made a little boo-boo, but it's going to be all right. In the world of Fanfiction, (or Phanfiction if you will), fluff and Lime is like a roll of duct tape stuck to a staple gun, it fixes anything and everything and plus it makes a cool ka-CHUNK noise. Therefore, I hope my readers will forgive me  
**

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Chapter Eighteen: **Mary-Sue to the Rescue

Dinner was as always in the house of the De Chagny's for the past month and a half. After Raoul had explained to his older brother what Mel's situation was, being a close friend of the Vicomte and having an intense fear now of residing in the Opera with a murdering Phantom afoot or whatever it was that killed Joseph Buquet, it took very little convincing and a small bit of charming by Mel to allow her to now live with the Chagny's. After such a shaky start, however, it seemed that so rapidly she grew close to the two masters of the house.

Philippe, the older brother wasn't a cruel man but he was very firm on some decisions and trust was difficult to earn. A strange woman of odd circumstances might have even intimidated the young Count, threatening to upset what little peace he could grasp in this house ruled by rumors of Phantoms and the strange ways of the Opera House. It was only until he took actual notice of the girl that he truly came to taking a liking to her. While the Count was a tad pitiless to the staff of the house, Mel was kind and caring. A shorter maid had trouble reaching the top shelf of towels in the west wing bathroom so the taller Mel reached up to retrieve what she needed. Hearing the whispers of the window-washers she knew that the cook was ill tonight and that it was doubtful that anything would be served on time. A usual high-class lady would be expected to call on the cook or servants of a friend or acquaintance should this sort of need arise, but not Mel. Rolling up the sleeves of a gown she hated but was the only one she had, she got to rolling dough and mixing spices. Unusual and certainly unconventional and sometimes even intolerable, but her quirks were what brought more happiness it seemed and lightened darker days.

Raoul and Mel seemed to become even closer. Long days at work and watching the Prima Donna perform her awful aria time and time again would have left him exhausted on a regular basis but Mel seemed to make things all but irregular. She didn't seem to do anything unusual in particular; she was just generally kind to people when others seemed so cold and calculating. The times she smiled at him from afar were touching and so innocent and the way she could poke fun in anything from imitating yet another of Carlotta's "greats" to the managers and even herself. Her endearing sense of fearless humor certainly lightened moods all along the Opera house, much less than Raoul himself.

Dinner, half-cooked by the woman herself was as delicious if not even more than what Cook usually made, pot-roast pork and fresh vegetables with soft clam soup and for desert a kind of cake made with cheese in it for an interesting taste, especially when topped with lightly-sugared strawberries. Over the "cheesecake" as Mel came to call it, it seemed that more than once, the soft blue eyes of the Vicomte met the blue-green jewels belonging to Mel, causing her to blush and return to gaze down at her strawberries.

"So, Mel" Philippe started, breaking the silence, "How is your job in the Opera coming along?"

Politely, she placed her fork neatly by her plate before saying, "It is going along quite well. Hopefully, if all goes according to plan, I will be promoted from Apprenticeship come springtime"

Raoul seemed overjoyed, "That's excellent news, Mel! I'm really happy for you! We should celebrate!"

Mel giggled, "But I haven't even been promoted yet!" she protested

"All the more reason!" the Vicomte jumped up from the table, "There is a great prospect on your horizon so why not celebrate? I know just the thing, too!"

"What?"

"I can't tell, it's a surprise for a reason!"  


* * *

**A/N: **All together now. Awwwwww.


	19. Larks Never Sing When Captive

**A/N: **Alrighty folks, I hope you had a Happy Christmas and A Merry New year! And here we are, right back on schedule! Also note, it's not too late to get your Phanfiction Christmas Present! Just leave a review!  
**

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Chapter Nineteen: **Larks Never Sing When Captive

Which way to put it up? A bun, maybe? No, it made her look too severe. Half-ponytail?

"You're living a lie." A voice in the mirror stated simply.

"Meg!" Mel turned right around, smiling heartily, but her grin dropped immediately, "What's wrong?"

" 'What's wrong?' you ask? I'll tell you: you're messing up the story!"

"There is no story"

"What? Melodie Peterson, you are one plum short of a Christmas pudding, and don't even begin referencing _The Matrix_ on me!" the Author cried

"What I am simply saying" Mel began, brushing through her shoulder-length reddish brown hair, "Is that I am sick and tired of hearing all about this story constantly!" she shouted, slamming the wooden brush to her vanity counter, "I am living my life happily in the company of the Vicomte"

"Or are you?" the Author asked, peeking over Mel's shoulder, "Listen to yourself, Mel, you sound like a high-ranked society _bitch_. Or is widdle baby Mel in _wub_ with Wowul?" Meg asked in a babyish voice

"Leave me alone" was all her Character responded with, standing and reaching for the doorknob

"Ah, ah, ah, dear Mel, you will soon see that your Erik might not have been all wrong about me" the Author threatened

"I have to tell you something" Mel said, sitting on the edge of the bed beside the Vicomte, "It's about- it's about what really happened… with The Phantom of the Opera"

"Did you not tell me that you were simply taken prisoner for one night?" he asked, surprised

She shook her head sadly, "That is not at all the truth" tears already began to well deep in her eyes and dared to spill over, "I- we were close friends. Lovers, even. I worked by day and returned to his cave of music and art below the Opera by night… and we seemed to love with a love that was more than love… until, it seemed the murder of Joseph Buquet. It was then how I knew the true nature of the Opera Ghost. That was how I came to run up to the roof of the Opera House and how I came to you"

"Do you truly believe this, Mel?" Raoul asked a little too coldly

"Believe? What do you mean? I lived it, Raoul, I was there!" she protested

The Vicomte shook his head shamefully, "I never hoped for this kind of scandal to be in the house of de Chagny, but I suppose it must be done"

"What must be done? What are you talking about?" she was scared, very scared, terrified even and it seemed that she didn't even know why

"You… just, stay. Stay" Raoul ordered, before running out of the room.

How could this be happening? It… it just didn't seem right. Weren't she and the Vicomte lovers? Didn't they share something special? Hadn't they shared the sun? How could this have happened, his emotions turned so quickly, it was just- the Author. She'd sworn the moment before she vanished that she would have her revenge. There was no other way.

And somehow, Mel knew what to do next. Cinching the last of her ribbons tight, she forced back tears with a full breath to ready. No crying. Be strong.

Melodie Peterson, the accused insane and supposedly demented descended the staircase in the house of de Chagny, slowly and gracefully as if to a party below. Raoul and his brother were talking to people dressed in white at the door. The Vicomte himself only seemed to hesitate a moment as he turned, saw her and pointed her out with a finger.

And gracefully, ladylike with an even head she stepped into the open night, chained in the back of a carriage.


	20. Tourniquet

**A/N: **Whoo hoo! Chapter 20! Epic isn't it? Also, this title is an _obvious_ connection to more than one chapter! If you want Erik to bake you cookies, give it a shot!As always, Reviews are definitley appreciated, even unsigned ones although you can't get your cookies if I have no where to send them!**

* * *

Chapter Twenty: **Tourniquet

It was cold and dark and damp and she felt as if she were a prisoner in a cell rather than a patient in "need of treatment". All around her people screamed, primal and animalistic roars tearing the silence to bloody shreds. She too would go insane if she had to put up with this any longer. Mel sat in the farthest corner of the cell, curled up tight into the shadows, her hands covering her ears trying as hard as she could to block out all the noise.

Suddenly, the long shadows of iron bars swung right, the rusted gate creaking as it slammed shut behind this new visitor.

"Melodie Peterson" the voice announced. "It seems like a long time since I saw you last"

"It wasn't." she growled finally in reply, "Here I was hoping I'd never have to deal with you again"

"Oh? And here I thought you would be begging me for forgiveness and to take you from this God-forsaken place" Erik remarked

"Forgive you? Apologies can't make up for the _murder _of a former living, breathing ex-_person_!" Mel cried, leaping to her feet, hardly noticing that between her and the Phantom were the only voices now

"You know as well as I that it was not my fault in what happened" he insisted calmly

"Then tell me again how I could have possibly _not_ seen you standing over the body of Joseph Buquet and the rope in your hand wrapped around his neck!" she shouted

"The Author forced me to do that, just as you have been placed here by the will of the Author."

"You liar!"

"I would not lie to you, Melodie" he replied softly, "For I have loved you, like none other character nor person." His voice grew louder, more intense as he took steps toward her "You, who has been the only to understand me and shared in the pain of yet another story"

"Stay back!" she warned as she felt her back touch cold concrete

"I murdered no one!" he growled, coming in closer, closer, practically pressed up against her, "Had I the choice I wouldn't have even come to the performance."

Cold, golden eyes softened, staring down to her.

"I loved you, Mel. I would never do a thing to hurt you"

Her eyes, blue-green and flashing anger never softened, "You never loved me"

"Should I have told you outright?" he asked rather seductively, his icy hand captured in the thick of her hair, "Would that, the simple words have saved you? Would you have believed me should I insist that I murdered no one?"

"Get away from me!" she screamed, trying desperately to push herself away but he held her to the concrete wall forcefully

"Now-now, love. Don't be so eager to leave me just yet" he told her, gripping her wrists with bruising force and shoving her into the stone behind her, "After all, it is you who did the leaving last. Should I not have a turn?"

"Let her go, Erik!" a third voice shouted behind them, a small hand gripping Erik's shoulder and forcing him to face her

"Meg, get him off me!" Mel cried, still trying to wrestle herself free

"I said let her go!" Meg growled.

She glared him down over the rims of her glasses, no one moving for a second save for their heaving chests.

"If you don't move, I swear to God, I'll make you" the Author warned and merited no response, yet again. This time, Meg didn't hesitate. She lifted her free hand and waved it to the side, forcing the Phantom to shift all the way to the side, slamming into the right wall, his hands tearing from Mel who collapsed onto the ground, sobbing.

"Mel…? Sweetie?" the Author asked softly, kneeling on the ground beside her.

Erik watched Meg's outfit shift from her Period "costume" gown to modern-day clothing, a gray laced cami and sleeveless black sweater with a massive collar and a tiered skirt to her knees as her long, braided hair fell to its shoulder-length and burned-out bleached color, brown roots stretching over the crown of her head.

"Are you okay?" she asked again

Mel curled up tighter, sobbing and twitching nervously, her fingertips shuddering as she touched along the span of the purple bruises along her wrists

"It's me, Mel, it's your sister" Meg insisted

"S-sister? Sister dearest?" Mel stammered, "Th-they talk funny! They wear old clothing for centuries past, no time, no time at all! They say love love love and never let go, never let go" she rambled

"It's okay. I'm here to take you home" the Author told her softly, "Where no one will talk or dress funny. Okay?"

"H-home?"

"That's right, sweetheart, home, in Boston" Meg's finger tips gently pulled through the length of Mel's wildly-tangled hair in a lovingly, sickeningly, sister-like way. "We can go home"

"I- I want to go home. Talk-funny Phantoms lie lie lie when they say they love love love and won't do or say or give a thing but these marks"

"Shhh" the Author hissed, "I promise you Mel, no more Phantoms."


	21. Dreams of an Absoloution

**Chapter Twenty-One: **Dreams of an Absolution

"Well, you might start to remember this place" Meg explained as she flicked on the light, "My old flat in Boston. S'not much, but it's home"

**"**Home…" Mel whispered, as if the words were wholly sacred, "Home, home, home!" she cried like a mantra.

"That's right. You were staying with me for a little while here, remember?"

"I was here. You took me away from him, away from talk-funny Phantoms, away from screaming, hurt, Phantoms" she muttered frantically, before suddenly crashing to a halt. "I love you." Was all she said, before throwing her arms around her sister.

"Ooof, it's okay, Mel. It'll all come back to you"

_The breeze caressed her face like gentle night shades, soft, sweet and tender like cool breaths of starfall. He clings to the angel's wings, standing within them and between them, holding onto them as if they were a final cling to life over the streets of Paris. She looks down upon herself, astonished to see what she found. The dress is white as snow and trimmed with delicate lace, a gown so beautiful; it might even be mistaken for a wedding-dress. Something more is amiss, her usual red-brown hair falls to only just brush her shoulders and here, a thick, perfect tangle of brown ringlets sweep the small of her back. She calls out a name upon soft, perfect, musical lips, a name she did not even hear herself, but the figure refuses to turn or acknowledge the girl behind him. _

"Remember this place? Sakura Sushi?" Meg offered before placing a reservation for a table for two.

Sure, in real life, the Author hated sushi, it just didn't feel _right_, but for the sake of fiction, she could stand these rolls of raw fish and cold rice.

"Hey, Cheryl!" she suddenly shouted, giving the other woman a hug. "I don't think you two have met before, have you? Cheryl, this is my sister, Mel!"

"Pleased to meet you, Mel! Table for just both of you or is there a boy involved?"

"Just the two of us. Oh, and speaking of boys" Meg pulled a slip of lined paper out of her pocket, "I noticed you had four… interesting customers the other day. The masky one, Erik, here's his phone number"

_The wind rushes like windfall of cool, strong water, so much that it lifts her hair right off of her shoulders and back, which leaves her feeling bare and slightly chilled. She screams the name she somehow knew, letting the wind carry the sound over the rooftop. This time he turns to see her, only a glance over her shoulder but enough for her to see the pain, the sadness, the heartfelt emotion that wells over, his eyes a bright gold._

"I recognize this place…" Mel whispered softly, turning the pages in a massive book about Paris, eyes falling on familiar images of the Opera Garnier.

"Remember, there was a movie about it, what was it called?" Meg knew exactly which movie she meant but obviously couldn't name.

"But more than that… I've been there" she pointed to the stage, "And up through there…" she meant the flies above

"I don't think you should strain yourself so much, Mel. You only just got back from- that place"

"I'm fine" she insisted, "It just seems like… I remember it. It was real."

_Still. No wind, no breeze graces the presence here, the man, the being that clings to the wings of a forsaken marble angel and the beauty in white lace. This time, it is he that speaks, but he does not turn and does not face the woman behind him. Slowly, he comes to terms with his words, his voice slowly breaking over the name like the crust of past-fallen snow, a voice so familiar it forces a chill upon her to the point of goose-bumps. Gently, as if the word were fragile as glass he utters, "Oh, Christine"_

_

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_**A/N: **In case you didn't understand (which hey, no big deal!) This takes place over 3 days and all the italics are her dreams over those days. Also, sorry for those Story Alert peoples, I got so exited that I could finally get a document in that I forgot to put in Author Notes! Hah! Anyway, you still have a chance to connect chapter-titles, most of them are songs!


	22. Spring Nicht

**Chapter Twenty-Two: **Spring Nicht

"This isn't right! This isn't home!" she protested, "Something is very wrong"

"Mel, sweetie, remember that you're still recovering and-"

"Don't give me this bullshit, Meg! Something is very wrong here, something you aren't telling me!"

"Mel, I've told you everything, you need to calm down" she placed her hands on Mel's shoulder's, looking straight into the character's soft gray eyes "This _is _home, here, in Boston. You're still recovering and need peace, quiet and calm"

Mel didn't listen, picking up one of Meg's huge books on Paris, turning to the familiar page with the familiar place, "I know this place" she whispered, "I've been here before. I've been on this stage, I know the secrets! The secret way from the Rue Scribe to the seventh basement level, the Prima Donna's mirror is a secret passage-way, and the Phantom of the Opera, I know it all!" she gasped, "The Phantom! Erik Destler, architect, musician, composer, artist, genius- oh god…"

"Mel? What's going on?"

"You lied to me!" she cried, throwing the book to the ground. "I loved him and you keep taking me away from him!"

"Mel, think about this for a second. You're talking about the murderer of Joseph Buquet. Don't you remember anything about that night? He took that knife and-"

"Wait a second! Erik told me that he hated knives, they make too much of a mess for him! And that knife looks just like the ones in your kitchen!"

"Now, now, let's not jump to conclusions" Meg insisted

"You killed Buquet and framed Erik!"

"It had to be done… he wouldn't cooperate"

"I need to get back to him. To apologize for accusing him like that"

"He can't come here. This is Reality, remember?"

"I came here before…"

"Well, yes, you've been here many times"

"And I sang and made the mirror explode… I was badly hurt and he came for me… I wonder…"

"Mel-!" Meg protested, reading Mel's look, "Mel, no! You can't!"

The window opened with a historical Boston creak. The door downstairs slammed open but it seemed that no one was listening

"If you jump, you'll die and then I'm out of a main character and-" suddenly The Author covered her mouth. She'd said too much! Shit!

"What did you just say?" Mel growled

"Nothing! You know me, I let too much slip, all the time, I say stupid things"

"You called me a character, didn't you?"

"Little slip-up, nothing to worry about"

"That means I'm not human at all, am I? If I'm just a character, then I can be fixed again"

"Hey!" Meg grabbed Mel by the collar of her modern-day t-shirt top, "_I'm _the Author and _I'm _in control of what happens!"

"Well now, Author, it seems I've got you in your own trap. You need your character for your story otherwise the fiction goes sour and the only way to bring Erik here, it seems, is to get him to think I'm in real danger. So here's what we do. I jump. He comes. You control me and make me better. We're happy."

"No, I can't let you hurt yourself! You might be… erm… expendable, but I still can't see you do this to yourself"

"Then _how_?!" Mel demanded, "How can I get back to him?"

"MEL, DON'T JUMP!" a voice screamed, as if it were an answer, as strong, thin arms threw themselves over her waist, tearing her away forcefully from the windowframe and sending them both tumbling to the down.

"Erik?"

"Don't… jump. I couldn't live without you"

But she never heard him as she fainted out cold in his arms on the floor.

* * *

**A/N: **Poo, fan. Fan, poo. Glad you two have met.


	23. Audience of One

**Chapter Twenty-Three: **Audience of One

Slowly, he rose, carrying her up with him, draped over his arms.

"Come on, Erik" The Author insisted softly, tugging him towards the mirror-door by the elbow, "Let's get back to the lair"

…

"You have to think about my own situation here. I have to keep a story interesting and strong and entertaining and straight-up fluff doesn't cut the mustard. Otherwise, the Readers will give up and find something else, and you and Mel and everything will cease to exist. But you see, I was doing it all wrong. With Mel away and in denial and you nowhere to be found, I pretty much lost it and we're all lucky that the Readers haven't abandoned this yet… I think." The Author tried to explain, a few hours later

"What are you saying?" Erik demanded

"I'm saying that I'm keeping you two- you and Mel- together. I won't try to separate you again" Meg replied softly

"Well, that's just great because she _hates_ me"

"Please, Erik, can you trust me?" she asked, her hand sliding up and down his back, "I edited Chapter Thirteen, tried to explain things and make sure she thinks that I did it instead of you"

"She… doesn't blame me…?" he asked with disbelief

"It's me she hates now. But you have to pay me back for this one. You owe me" she told him, "You need to tell her"

"What? No! I can't!"

"You have to, Erik, she needs to hear it"

"Why?" he growled, grabbing the Author by the collar of her shirt

"God, is everyone doing that today?" she sighed, "Listen, you're strong enough to do this, and more than anything, Mel needs your strength. Right now she needs to know that you A. Forgive her and B. Are still here for her and that C. You won't turn your back on her again or attack her. You need to make sure that she knows that this time you're serious and staying together"

"Can't you tell her? Shouldn't she already know if she's a part of the story-stream?"

"She needs to hear it from you. Here, take her hands and she'll wake up in a few minutes"

Why did this suddenly become so difficult? He'd said it before, so easily, the words just arriving for all the other OC's for Meg Giry for _Christine Daaé, _but for some reason, Mel just… he couldn't. But then again, they weren't real. Christine, Meg, any of the OC's weren't real. They were brainwashed and dumb, following him everywhere in blind, written love. They were just the product of overdramatic teenage fangirlish fantasies. Mel didn't need her fangirl. She was _his_ fantasy.

Suddenly, she stirred, turning in her hospital bed, her eyes red and blooming like flowers at last.

"Erik…? Is that you?" she croaked

"Yes, Mel, I'm here-"

"Oh my God, Erik!" she shouted suddenly alarmed, "I'm so sorry, I should have believed-"

Now it was her turn to interrupt her, silencing her with an icy fingertip at her lips, "Shhh, it's okay. I know already. You don't need to apologize"

"Y-you do?"

"Meg told me everything."

"I'm at least sorry for not paying attention to what you said about her. I should have listened"

"It's okay. That's the past, and the past is behind us

_There's only us_" he sang

"_There's only this_"

Slowly, she felt his voice wash over her, caressing her like hands never could, her eyes sliding closed

"_Forget regret_

_Or life is yours to miss_

Melodie… Melodie Peterson" he stopped singing and hissed hurriedly

"Yes?" she asked innocently, her eyes still blind

"I love you."  


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**A/N: **All together now- AWWWWWWWWWWWW!  
Reviews (as always) appreciated!


	24. Tears

**Chapter Twenty-Four: **Tears

"What?"  
"I love you."

"What's gotten into you?"

"No, really, I'm not lying"

"This stupid story! I know this can't be real!"

…

Salty and fresh, the rivers ran down his cheeks, his ruined, damnably horrid face that was free of its porcelain trappings for the night.

She _loved_ him, there was no doubt about that, but was that just the Author or was she really, truly in love? No one could ever tell. So many times he'd been deceived by another character, from the idiotic time-travelling 'phan-_brats_' who only loved him for being Gerard Butler, to the love of his first life: Christine Daaé. Oh, yes, the girl that left him so long ago plagued him still in EC tales dragging him like a wet blanket on the back of a carriage through puddles of mud, crying and drama and even getting _pregnant_. It was always so much drama and only so many tears he could pour from these golden eyes. She hurt him the first time and the last and Erik could only take so much of this hurt. Only admitting the affections shared between himself and the OC would only provoke the Author to pushing them closer together and closer to the edge. They couldn't be together, not just for the fear of the continuing story but for a sense of protectiveness he had for Mel. He didn't want her to fall into this pit of despair that would be surely be created by the awful, twisted author.

…

She failed. She'd failed it all. Curled up with her wet cheek pressed to the fuzzy warmth of her oversized teddy bear that she wished was Erik, Meg listened intently to the soundtrack of _The Phantom of the Opera_. It just wasn't right! For the longest time, she'd tried to capture the essence of the musical, the mood the sense of darkness, shadows, phantoms, but no, impossible. She'd failed at capturing the feeling of The Black Parade like a firefly in a jar _twice_ and now _Phantom_ received the same treatment. Despite the numerous praises she'd received on tragic tales that nearly made someone cry, the Author was useless to recreate the same feeling she got when watching the stage as intently as possible, hardly blinking. She'd failed _Lord Andy_ (whatever) and failed Mel but most of all she failed Erik.

_If only he were here right now _she thought as generous beads of salty wet fell from sapphire eyes

Despite the eloquent poetry of the first chapter that truly revealed the fictional object of her desire's motives, the story and its eloquence was over at Chapter Two with her characters drinking like fish at the Tavern where she stood, helpless to save her own tale.

And now he wanted to be free of it all. Not that she didn't blame him, but it was all-telling in the relationship of the two. She wasn't good enough for him and the way it seemed; unless he was _forced, _nobody was.

Tears like these couldn't be fought as she listened to the car alarms of the city and sirens of its protector; they could only be drawn out until there weren't any more.

…

"Erik? Erik are you all right?" Mel called through the house on the lake, holding a lit candleholder in front of her to burn away the shadows as she came through the open door of his room

No coffin here, because while the original Erik seemed obsessed with the fact that he was going to die, _this_ fictional version refused to sleep in something like that. Too uncomfortable and claustrophobic. Instead, he had a large double-bed designed precisely for these moments

"Erik, I heard you crying… what's wrong?" she asked, putting her candle on the floor and kneeling at his bedside

_Mel_. He couldn't let her see him like this

"Go away" he replied gruffly

But she made no move to leave. Instead, she placed her hand on his back, gently stroking his tense shoulder blades with the backs of her fingers

"What's wrong?" she asked instead, moving to sit on the edge of the bed

"N-Nothing's wrong…" he stuttered

"Okay…" she whispered, slipping from the bed's edge and picking up her candle, blowing out the tiny flame that danced on the black wick until it was nothing more than a memory of light and warmth in the darkness, "Goodnight, Erik"

"Mel- wait" he sat up, "I'm sorry it's just-"

She stopped at the door and turned back to look at him.

"I'm sorry" was his only explanation as he looked to the dark floorboards.

"It's okay" she whispered, "It's all right. It's not like this is a Tragedy/Horror or anything" Mel smiled, showing dangerous and surprising awareness of the domain they truly lived in

The Phantom nodded slowly, "I have been there many times and it only makes me more grateful" he sighed, "I really am sorry…"

She returned to the edge of the bed, "And I said that it was all right… I understand how you feel. Controlled and trapped yet again with someone that you don't even _like_, forced to-"

"Don't even like?" he interrupted, "What are you talking about? Mel, of _course _I like you, how can I not?"

"I'm just a character, Erik, nothing more" she replied, reaching and wiping his lingering tears

Erik grabbed her hand roughly, "Don't say that. You _know_ that you are way more than that."

"Erik…" she whispered softly

"Melodie Peterson, you are beautiful" he proclaimed, pressing her palm to his lips, "And smart" again, his snowy mouth met her hand, "And so much more than I deserve"

"Oh, Erik…" at a loss for words, it was the only thing that could spill from her lips

"Shhhhhhhhhhhh" was all he whispered, gently lifting her onto his lap with an arm around her shoulders and beneath her legs

"You should be asleep" she told him, "We have a whole story ahead of us tomorrow"

"It can wait 'till morning" he hissed back, pressing his lips to the crown of her head

She flinched at his touch, so tender, so affectionate. "Erik, what's gotten into you?!" she cried, racing to tumbled out of his arms, "Don't let the story get to you, you don't love me or like me or anything!" she whipped around to face him, "I'm a character for cry-sakes!" she shouted finally, "You can't love a character!"

"Mel, wait…" he reached out, his fingertips pushing back the dark but too late.

Already she was buried in shadows, stifling sobs and trying not to let him know that in a night they could have shared as lovers at last, the only thing they truly shared were… Tears.


	25. Returner

**Chapter Twenty-Five: **Returner.

Flowers. Everywhere. But not the live kind that grew in pots or plastic bowls that hung from balconies like she saw in the future, no, these were the cut kind in bouquets given by lovers, twisted into baskets here or in vases there or arranged in little bowls. They seemed beautiful but almost idiotic in some way, something that should be living captive and held there by little bits of green tape and wire.

"Erik? What's going on?" Mel asked hesitantly. This was so weird

"Do you like them?" he asked suddenly, appearing from behind an overflowing basket of daisies and lilies and sprigs of baby's breath.

Surprised and astonished by his hiding place she exclaimed, "Erik, you did this?" he was just waiting for her to say she hated them, "Of course I like them! Why shouldn't I? I love them!" she nearly shouted, running her fingertips over a strange, pink bloom, "Especially the roses" Suddenly not becoming a screaming, squealing, Mary-Sue, all at once she became wistful, tracing the curve of the blossom with her fingertips.

Oh, yes, the roses, soft and beautiful twirls like cool, silky dresses worn to the Opera, some even designed by the apprentice costumer herself. They were a dangerous red that contrasted sharply with her milky-pale hand and tied in a bunch with a black silk ribbon and placed in a voluptuous clear glass vase filled just a bit with water.

Roses? Dear god, the Author was giving him the perfect fictional woman. "Roses are my favorite too" he replied softly, "Would you like to take them into your room?"

"My room? Is that okay?" Something seemed a little off here, it wasn't very much like Erik

"But of course! They are yours, Mel, I bought them for you…"

"For me? What?"

"Yes, for you my dear! Why else?"

She stopped fondling the rose, her hand stilling sharply, "What are you trying to prove, Erik?"

His heart dropped, "Come again?"

"After last night… what are you trying to say by this?" she demanded

"N-nothing! I just wanted to get you something nice, is all!" he stumbled

Mel was far from buying it, "Erik, you had an Angst Attack last night, so bad that the Author could feel it all the way in Boston. What's really going on?"

The Phantom fumbled with words some more, trying to formulate something to say. All he could come up with- "Mel, I love you. I want to show you some hope again."

**::-~-::**

The Story didn't often go into the jobs of the OC's, giving small details or short scenes with small insight to how awful Opera people could really be and all of that nonsense. As much as she hated it, this Author's story was of course, no different.

"_Peterson!_" a voice shrilled over the steady hum of an army of sewing machines.

It was Giselle, Mel's craftswoman-mistress. Luckily, Mel was within the door fast enough that the woman didn't blow her temper.

"I haven't seen you for _days_!" Giselle shouted, "Where have you _been_?"

"Erm… my mother was sick, and although she lives in a town nearby, I had to help care for her" Mel came with her excuse

"I'm hoping you will work _extra hard _today then, Peterson, these costumes are not about to sew themselves! You'd better make your _mere _proud!" Giselle cried. The woman took a deep breath, calming herself slightly, "I need material for three ballet girl costumes and threads to match"

"I'm on it" Mel replied confidently, darting to the storage rooms, picking out bundles of velvet and cotton material and spools of red and gold thread.

"Hey, Mel!" a voice hissed as she placed her bundles on one of the cutting tables.

"Oh, hey, Marion, what's up?" Mel asked, lining up the fabric with the measuring lines.

"Invites got sent out last night for the Christmas party!" Marion exclaimed, bouncing a little with glee, "It's not about to be a big party or anything, not with Masquerade three weeks after, but still!"

"Sounds awesome! I'll check my mail, I haven't been home in months" Mel nodded, taking scissors to the material in her hands.

"Yeah, what is up with that? Rumors are flying that the Phantom had you or that you were in a mental hospital or something…?"

"Not quite. My mother got sick and I needed to take care of her and then I came back to the Buquet incident and all. Fortunately, the Vicomte is close friends with my mother and he offered me a place to stay but umm… he erm- objected to the fact that I was still a bit traumatized by the incident and thought me a bit unstable." Mel tried to explain, feeling guilty for lying to Marion.

"Uh-huh. And it's not because you got action on de Chagny?" Marion teased.

"Oh God, no! It wasn't like that! Not at all!" Mel protested.

"Really? Cause I heard-"

"Peterson!" Giselle cut in, "Have you the fabrics I need?"

"Yes ma'am!"

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**A/N: **WANTED: Reviews. Reward! Stack of steamy pancakes as per Chef Erik's recipe!  
As always, they are very much appreciated! I miss my readers! T)_T


	26. Week By Week

**Chapter Twenty-Six:** Week By Week

The next few weeks were very hectic for Mel, orders for Bal Masque costumes pouring in and being only an apprentice, she was given the brunt of the work. Once one huge bundle of fabrics was cut to size, there were three more materials waiting on the table waiting to be seen to. Some people simply couldn't decide on what to wear and gave infuriatingly vague ideas when asked and when they did that, Mel was sent to the drawing board to come up with something, as if she could sketch, stitch and cut fabric all at the same time!

Erik noticed this, saw her collapse night after night onto the sofa in an exhausted heap, nearly to her wit's end in work. Once, she'd even fallen asleep right there on that couch, enjoying a cup of chamomile tea one moment and passed out the next. In fact, he was starting to get worried about her. He tried thinking of ways to help her, like pretending to be someone important and call her away for a while or claim to be her uncle and take her out for lunch, but then again, she hastily ate whatever small things she could in the workroom through her lunch break, trying to catch up before another load of work came to her again. Even then, would she accept his help? The woman's swelling pride would have caused her to blush and refuse his assistance, pretending that everything was okay. It wasn't.

14 December, 1870

Two weeks before the Bal Masque

Erik paced in his study. He peered at the clock again. He paced some more. Fed up with his composition, a new Opera, for the day, he simply couldn't return to his work now. Especially with Mel about to come home any minute. _Home_. It was as if they were a married couple, with him worrying over her like this. What time was it again? Eleven-thirty. As far as Erik knew, she wasn't going anywhere after work, and even if she did, she wouldn't be out this late.

He stopped pacing. What if she was just out or something? Women always loved shopping and the like, maybe she was just… somewhere and he was being too controlling and worried over nothing.

Well, there was only one way to find out, and that was a little trip around the Opera. Just a quick stroll to make sure she wasn't caught up by some kind of pervert, even though most knew not to cross her after what happened with Joseph Buquet.

The Phantom of the Opera dashed down secret corridors, through shadowed passageways and raced down places that no one seemed to remember until he'd neared the place that he'd look first, the small sewing workroom she was frequently assigned to. Here, though was the difficult part. The costume shops were located on the third floor, and only one corridor down from the main hallway on this story. Even at this hour, the expensive fabrics and gold and jewels were heavily watched, the main hallway he had to cross was brightly lit and open. Was it even worth it? Erik edged to the very rim of the shadows, trying to keep to them as best as he could, trying to catch a glance into that costume workroom.

He didn't see anything, he _heard _something instead. It was faint, but it sounded like someone crying and loudly. Could it be? Even if it wasn't Mel, someone from her costume shop or even the ones next door could tell him where she went. Suddenly, a guard approached and Erik didn't even notice how far he'd been leaning until he darted back quickly. That was close! But it was a good thing anyway, now that the guard was turned the other way. The Phantom raced past, quick as a flash. _Too easy._ Now to find the crying girl.

He peeked into the first workroom, then the second, both empty. The third looked promising, a small glow echoing from the dark room, the sounds of sobbing rising as he approached. There, in the back, was a small lantern, lighting on a girl about Mel's age, not more than seventeen, her head down so he couldn't even see her face buried in her thin arms. Her long hair might have been braided earlier in the day but now it was a tangled mess of reddish-brown, gathering in a huge ball at the nape of her neck.

"Excuse me, mademoiselle?" he asked her gently, placing his hand on her shoulder comfortingly, "I was looking for someone, do you happen to know where Melodie- Mel?"

The girl lifted her head and he recognized her immediately through her tearstained mess.

"E-… Erik? What are you d-d-doing here?" she stammered

"You were late coming home and I thought I'd make sure that you were okay. Here," deftly, he swept his cape around her shoulders, "To keep you warm" he explained simply.

Another swell of tears was on the brink again, threatening to burst again, "Oh, Erik… I d-don't know what I'd d-d-do without you…"

"Shhh… don't even think about it, then" he insisted.

Gently, he brought his hands to her, his palms cupping her face softly and his icy thumbs sweeping rolling tears from their path.

"Erik, I-"

"Shhh" he interrupted, placing his lips on her forehead, "You've had a long day. Let's go home."

His arms slipped beneath her, and slowly, tenderly, he lifted her up, carrying her down darkened hallways and all his shadows. Still, her lightness burned brightly.

**A/N: **Alright, you guys, I'm really sorry for all the recent crappiness I've been writing and stuff and for having such a late update! But it'll get better! I swear!


	27. Of Giggles and NotGirlfriends

**Chapter Twenty-Seven: **Of Giggles and Not-Girlfriends

"_Joueax Noel_, Peterson." Giselle nodded civilly, "Try not to get into too much trouble." She added as she turned for the door.

Marion rolled her eyes, "Don't let her get to you" she advised, "So, Mel, you didn't tell us yet!"

"Tell you guys what?" Mel asked, staring confusedly to the other giggling girls that she shared the workroom with.

"Well, you know that guy you've been seeing?" Marion started

"Yeah, what about him?" Mel shrugged.

"Well, spill! What did he get you?" Marion demanded.

"Yeah, did he surprise you?" another girl piped up

"It would be _soooo __**romantic**_ if he proposed on Christmas!" someone else squealed.

"Whoa, no! I don't think he's ready for marriage with me. Erm… ever"

It seemed as if the whole room sighed with disappointment.

"It's okay girls" Marion insisted, clapping Mel on the shoulder, "There's still hope. If this guy doesn't ante-up, maybe _de Chagny _will."

"Raoul?!" Mel squeaked.

"Yeah, you know what they say, 'Time heals all wounds' " somebody quoted.

Marion poked Mel in the ribs, "Oh, come on, Mel, we're only teasing; you look like you've seen a ghost!"

"Y-yeah. Well, I should get home, cause Heaven forbid I miss any marriage proposals." Mel said sarcastically.

"Wait, aren't you coming to the Christmas Party tonight?"

"I dunno you guys, I mean…"

"Oh, come on, Mel, you've been working so hard! You need a night to relax!" a girl to her left insisted.

"Yeah, and you should bring your boyfriend too!"

"ERIK?!" Mel nearly shouted, "N-No! Bad idea! He's not really that-! You know, kinda antisocial! He's not a party kinda person!" she stammered rapid-fire, caught under panic.

"Oh, calm down, will you?" Marion assured her, trying not to laugh, "If your boyfriend wants to be a total loser then so be it. And don't stress about the party, we all know that you've been working hard."

~-:: - ::-~

"And then she said 'If your boyfriend wants to be a total loser, then so be it', as if we were actually _together _or something!" Mel cried, pacing the lair floor.

"What is this party for, anyway?" Erik asked.

"You know, those Christmas parties that are considered occupational hazards."

"Little early for one of them, isn't it?"

She shrugged, "Considering it's Christmas Eve, not really."

Erik blanched, his mask looking every part of his face, "What?!"

She gave him a strange look, as if it was obvious. "Erik, it's Christmas Eve. You didn't know that?"

"Uhhmm… of course I did! Silly me, slipped my mind for a moment there" he played it off, panicking slightly in his mind. He didn't even _begin_ to shop for her yet! "So are you actually going to this party of yours?" he asked, hastily changing the subject.

"Yeah, I was kind of hoping to. Wanna come?"

"Not… really… I have a lot of stuff to do and- oh, don't make that face at me!" he demanded.

Mel pouted playfully, her eyes wide and sad, "Pweeeease?"

"I'm kinda busy, you know. We don't even have a tree and- stop doing that!"

"I could care less about the tree, Erik. Please come out and meet my friends?"

"F-Fine"

Somehow, he would have to make this work.

* * *

**A/N: **Hey you guys! I know it's completely the wrong season for this but hey! Why not? It's almost Christmas in Australia… (Australians: I'm kidding.)

Next chapter involves music, so if you have any ErikxMel song requests, place 'em here!

Also, since we've hit 50 reviews, any reviewing on this chapter instantly earns cookies!


	28. Dangerous Games

**A/N: **Holy... **_shizznits_**. It has been two **_fracking_** months since I've updated. I'm sorry, guys! Anywaaays... a few notes for this chapter:

First off, STP is ending this summer. Yep, that means only two more months of fluff and mayhem and I, The Author, intend to make it extremely twist-tastic! MWHAHAHAHA

Second, a note on accents, there's a new character (you'll know 'im 'cause he's got a name) and I've been having way too much fun typing out accents recently (considering a character in my new favorite fandom has an _epic _Cockney) so hey look, accents! Fans of Dr. Who can think of it kind of like Billy Shipton's off-islander-quasi-Southern-American from _Blink. _Those that don't know what I'm talking about **_must see 'Blink'_**. You don't even have to know Doc Who to get it.

Third, I'm really sorry for not updating!

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Eight: **Dangerous Games

It wasn't the first time this happened. It certainly wouldn't be the last. The Phantom of the Opera was trapped.

Erik backed up against the wall. "Now, let's not do anything hasty"

"Don't even start with that crap. I'll do what I want to." The voice growled.

"Okay… okay, that's fine. Look, I'm sure there are places we both have to be right now…"

"I'm not going anywhere until you talk" the muzzle of a revolver flashed in the dim light of the candlelit alley.

THREE HOURS EARLIER

"Come _on_, Erik, we have to get upstairs for the party in _ten minutes_!" Mel cried, attaching her earring on with a painful snap. She still wasn't used to wearing these.

"I'm coming, keep your skirts on" Erik grumbled, making one last check in the mirror.

Straightening his new wig and making sure that his cravat tie was adjusted correctly, he knew he was ready.

"Well, come _on_!"

"Calm down , I'm coming."

The door swung open. Mel, who was about to fasten a necklace let it drop to the floor as she stared stock still.

"E-Erik?" she stuttered, "What did you do? What happened to the…?"

She made a weak gesture to her face, referring to Erik's that was suddenly smooth and unblemished, which defeated the whole point of the Leroux novel.

He smiled, "Just a simple mask I was working on last night while you were at work. I more or less stole it from some other fanfic that did the same"

"Oh, Erik, you didn't have to!"

"It's alright, I don't want you to get into trouble with your friends. Shall we head up?" he offered her his arm that she took with a giggle.

"Yeah, let's get going!"

It felt as if poor Erik was being paraded around the whole ballroom. This was Giselle, her bitchy boss Mel often complained about. Pleased to meet you. This was Marion, her new 'best friend' added just for the sake of the narrative. Pleasure to make your acquaintance. At last, she let him sit, leading him to two open seats at the bar.

"You sure this is a good idea?" he asked uneasily.

"Yeah, what's wrong with a little liquid courage?"

"I dunno, I just remember a certain _second chapter_ going poorly"

Mel shot him a look, "Really, Erik? You're gonna go there? Trust me; no one survives these parties without a stiff drink"

Her new best friend, Marion suddenly bounded up, "Hey, Mel, me and some friends from the second workroom are escaping to the Café down the street, wanna come?" giving Erik a half-lidded glance, she added, "Your boyfriend can come too"

"Why don't you go on, Mel? I'll stay around here in case your boss notices you're gone" he offered

"Yeah, we don't want Giselle to blow a gasket, remember when Selma snuck off last time?" Marion said.

"Oh, yeah, that would suck" Mel nodded.

"Go on, I'll hold down the fort" Erik told her.

"Are you sure that's okay?" she asked

"Yeah, I'll be here if you need me."

Just as Mel turned her back, another woman took a seat beside him.

"An exchange, 20 lines of fanservice for 3 hours of time" she said

Erik gave her a strange look, "M-Meg? Are you feeling okay?"

She shrugged, "You need the help and I need an ass-pull for this plot. We can help each other."

"What kind of 'fanservice' are we talking here?"

"Simple stuff, nothing too bad. C'mon, Erik, you know you need this"

"Fine" he grumbled.

"Now, 'ow bou' tha' lil lady the'? Boy she a beaut'" the bartender whistled, nodding towards Mel as he was topping off their beer mugs.

"Who, Mel…?" Raoul asked drunkenly. "Yeah, she's _hawt_"

"An' 'pparen'ly taken up by some guy she don't talk much abou'"

"Is she now?" Erik hiccupped, "Who th' _hell_ does that guy think he is?"

"He means _you_, stupid"

"Wait what? How the _hell_ did you know that?"

"You might've thought I was _stupid_ and called me just a _boy_ but I'm smarter than I look!"

"Yeah? Well, I'll be having a _chat_ with the Author later about that"

"Oh yeah? And she'll listen to she'll listen to _you_? She thinks that smart guys are _sexy_!" Raoul announced triumphantly

"No she doesn't, she goes for that _guy_ from the fictional band with the eyes and he doesn't have two _brain cells _to rub the _hell _together."

"You're _stupid_"

"No you're _stupid_"

"Well you're stupid_er_. You're the stupid_est_ thing that ever came to the opera house and I've seen some _stupid _people here and- hey, wait, where are you _going_?"

Straightening his tie and jacket, Erik stood. "I have some business to attend to" he announced soberly.

The Phantom was given three hours at best before Mel noticed he was gone. He had to shop for presents, buy food for Christmas dinner and somehow drag a pine tree and decorations down to the secret lair of the Opera house undetected. Thankfully, he could call on some old friends.

"'oo dares entah d' Court of Miracles?" a voice boomed throughout the tunnel

"Phantoms and Ghosts who have been shown the way" Erik called, lifting his torch.

"Fantôme, Kraken on a crackah, why don'cha evah use th' front door?" the voice rushed up, to meet Erik in the form of a slender, dark-skinned man, wearing a brightly-colored jester outfit, complete with a bouncing hat adorned with bells and a vivid, red mask.

"Nah, that's no fun, now is it, Roi?"

"Awlwaize the complex one, yeah?" the man named Roi shook his head, the bells attached to the appendages of his checkered hat chuckling. "So how ya been, Fantôme?"

"Pretty good. How have things been down here since I've been?"

"Good fo' th' most part. Lune 'ad 'er baby n' Pénombre said 'e found some new locashuns fo' the Court 'f we need ta move again but 'choo know 'ow it is. Times is gettin' 'ard 'ere, Fantôme. Patrols an' police are steppin' up, lookin' fo' us."

"I know how you feel, old friend. Living below the opera becomes more and more difficult every passing day." Erik sighed

"Then join up t' tha' Court, Fantôme. We coul' use a guy like ya' 'round 'ere." Roi offered

"You know I can't do that, Roi. I have… obligations topside."

"Y'know I gotta ask."

"I know."

"By th' way, 'f ya' got 'cher obligashuns, why a'e yeh down 'ere?"

"I need to enlist in some help from the Court… I'm in need of one big Miracle right now"

"Somethin' fo' Noel, methinks?"

"Yeah. Let's just say that I completely forgot it was Christmas Eve, and I really owe it to my erm… "friend" to make Christmas nice for her, but I don't have much time."

"'ow much time we talkin'?"

Erik thought it over for a second, "Around three hours"

Roi whistled, "Tree hours fo' a 'ole Noel?" he asked incredulously, "Wouldn' be tha' 'ardes' we've pulled off"

"And what would that be?"

Roi shook his head, "Long story, you don' wanna know, bu' i' involves a 'ellava' lotta noodles. So, 'oo is dis speshal gurl a' yows?"

"Uhhh… her name is Mel and-"

"Wait!" Roi whipped around, "Mel… Peterson…?"

"Yeah… how did you know?"

"Oi, fellas!" Roi called down the tunnel, "We got a frien' a' Melodie's he'ah!"

* * *

**A/N: **dun Dun DUNNNNN! Here's a hint: there's a reason why her name isn't spelled the traditional way, 'Melodie'. Second hint: Note the names mentioned in the conversation.


	29. Melodie's Secret

**A/N: **I know what you're thinking: '_WHOA, AN UPDATE **ON TIME?**" _well, folks, it's true! 3 Also, a hint for the twist, pay attention to the names of the Gypsies, especially those already mentioned.

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Nine: **Melodie's Secret

"Nice to see you back her again Fantôme," a woman named Belle smiled, but Erik ignored her.

"What do you mean, 'a friend of Melodie's'?" he cried after Roi, "Do you know her?"

Roi nodded, "Me n' Mel go way back. Old times."

"B-But she was _here_? _Before_?" Erik demanded

"Fantôme," Roi placed a hand on his friend's shoulder, "If she didn't tell you befo', she obviously wan's t' leave it behind 'er. I wouldn' blame 'er, she's 'ad a rough past, that girl" he said, before continuing down the dank tunnel, leading the Phantom into the light of the Court of Miracles.

The passage opened to a tremendous underground chamber aglow with the hustle and bustle of the secret city. Gypsy children darted underfoot, musicians beat in time with each other on every street corner. It wasn't exactly home, but it was a nice place to be for now.

"Not much has changed since you were here" Belle nudged Erik in the ribs with her elbow, as Roi took on the task of replacing their torches on the wall sconces.

"It would appear so."

"So what brings you down here, Fantôme? It isn't like you to go anywhere for a social call"

"I'm in need of a little help, Belle. I very nearly forgot it was Christmas, and I want to make it special for my-" he caught himself on the _girlfriend_ word, "ummm, friend"

"'Ummm friend'? What's that supposed to mean?"

"She's a friend. Just a friend." Erik replied firmly.

"So you need a Christmas Miracle. We got'cha covered. Swing by my place in an hour, and I'll have something your 'umm friend'. A Christmas present she'll never forget." Belle winked

"Alright, see you then" Erik smiled, watching his friend dash off into the busy streets.

"T'en le's get t' de market" Roi appeared behind the Opera Ghost, again placing his hand on the Phantom's shoulder.

Shopping at gypsy markets were very different than any other in all of Paris. Instead of making trades in Francs or any other coin, they only accepted bartering as a method of business. Unfortunately, being thrust so quickly into this situation, the Phantom didn't bring much with him to trade with.

For a full Christmas dinner, Erik gave his cape that he assured would prove very useful in the cold of the winter, and having it all delivered cost him his pair of soft leather gloves. A fresh, emerald pine tree with all the trimmings was paid with his fine silk cravat and the ruby brooch with it. He even bought a few trinkets for Mel, a few sweets she liked, feminine makeup she usually couldn't afford, a bolt of select cloth for her own projects and a brand new sketchpad full of thickly-woven paper ran a price of a _month's _worth of Opera shows in Box Five. Before he knew it, an hour had passed and it was time for Erik to meet with Belle once more.

"T'is way," Roi urged, leading him down narrow alleys until they arrived at a well-hidden door along a dark street, just barely lit by dim lanterns hanging from the rooftops high above.

He knocked, the door swinging open almost immediately to his touch.

"Oh, Fantôme, it's you." Belle commented, opening the shadowy entrance wider, "Come in, come in"

Nodding his thanks, Erik stepped inside.

"I have just the thing for you" she said, placing a large, velvet box into his hands.

Erik briefly opened it, peering inside at its contents, nodding with satisfaction.

"You're right, it's perfect!" he cried. "How- what do I have to trade you for this?"

"Not much. Just a little reminder of what you've missed. That 'Umm friend' of yours shouldn't mind" she told him softly, closing the distance between them.

"M-Mel? I think she might…" he stammered nervously, understanding her intentions immediately

"No, but you will. Admit it, Erik, you're in love with her."

"In love…? No, that's- it's complicated"

"No, it isn't. You love her, and you're afraid to tell her" she was so close now, they were standing chest-to-chest.

"Roi…!" he called, but had no response

"It's okay. You'll tell her eventually" her lips were so near, "Later, you'll have to tell me how I compare"

It was the first full-on kiss in this fanfiction. Despite all the romantic shojo-type descriptions, it wasn't candy-sweet, her lips tasted like… well, like they should. It wasn't interesting or anything special to report. Definitely no fireworks.

It was only moments after they broke apart when he'd heard the click of a revolver barrel, a glint of silver catching the lantern-light. A hooded figure stood holding the gun appraised through the dark doorway to the alleyway beyond, approaching with long strides.

"Don't. Move." a deep, gravelly voice ordered.


	30. Nothing Left To Mystery

**A/N: **Wow, ummm... hi...? Yeah, I have no excuse for this thing being late. My computer issues and issues in general, well... anyway, NEW CHAP! Will The Author _finally_ resolve this damn cliffhanger? Read on!

* * *

"Mask-Face, you come out with your hands up" the voice ordered, beckoning with its silver revolver.

Erik hesitantly obeyed, returning the box to Belle's hands before raising his hands in surrender and slowly crossing the threshold

"In the back, shut the door" the voice added, the gun pointed inside.

Nobody inside moved.

"Shut the door or I shoot" the shadow threatened.

With an apologizing look, Belle pulled the door closed; keeping her ear close to the dark wood to try and hear what was going on.

It wasn't the first time this happened. It certainly wouldn't be the last. The Phantom of the Opera was trapped.

Erik backed up against the door. "Now, let's not do anything hasty"

"Don't even start with that crap. I'll do what I want to." The voice growled.

"Okay… okay, that's fine. Look, I'm sure there are places we both have to be right now…"

"I'm not going anywhere until you talk" the muzzle of a revolver flashed in the dim light of the candlelit alley. "You lied to me" the voice said, dropping its gravelly and low tone.

Erik's look of shock and horror was enough. "M-Mel?" he cried

"For the record, it wasn't loaded" Mel offered, tossing the silver weapon aside. "You can open the door, by the way!" she called, met with an immediate response, the near-hidden doorway flinging open. "It doesn't matter anymore"

"Mela'die?" Roi raced to the girl's side as soon as he recognized her pulling back the hood of her dark cloak. "You di'n't tell meh y' were comin' down 'ere, love"

"I know but… I had to check on… you know"

"You know?" Erik demanded, "Melodie Peterson, you just pulled a _gun_ on me! You owe me answers" he growled

"_I_ owe _you_ answers? You snuck off on me when you promised you would stay, running off-!"

"Snuck off? You left me at the Opera house, you wouldn't even know!"

"I forgot my purse, I went back to get it and you were gone!"

Roi pushed between the two of them, "Sta' cross' lovah's, love i'. C'mon, we can get'cha all the answers ya' need over tea at the 'Palace'."

-::~::-

Erik glared at Mel over a raised teacup. Mel met him with a hard glance over a mug of hot chocolate.

"Now, Erik, why don't'cha tell Mel'adie 'ere jus' wha' you were doin' down 'ere, 'cause tha's easi'a to explain" Roi offered

"You forgot it was Christmas, didn't you?" Mel asked softly.

With brief hesitation, Erik shamefully nodded.

"You could have told me."

"I just- I just wanted to make Christmas good for you, Mel. You deserve better"

Her gaze softened, "It will be, Erik" she assured him, taking his hand across the table and giving it a firm squeeze, "You're here with me, and that's all that matters."

"All toget'a now!" Roi called

"_AWWWWWW_!" the entire room, including the two housemaids by the doorway chorused.

"T'ank ya'" Roi smiled, "Now, Mel'adie, y' gotta tell Fantôme what y' were doin' trapsin' abou' 'ere"

Her hand sliding from Erik's grip, Mel gave Roi a pleading look. "I… can't…"

Erik whipped back and forth between Roi and Mel, "Why, what's going on?"

Roi sighed and gave him a solemn look. "T'ink a' 'er name, Fantôme. She was one of us."

"One of-? A- A gypsy?" Erik stammered

Mel nodded. "He's also my father"

This time, the Phantom nearly spat out his tea.

"Lot'sa surprises t'day, eh?" Roi laughed

"You never told me you had a daughter!" Erik cried

"T'was a long, long time ago, Fantôme." Roi admitted

"Why didn't you tell me?" the Phantom demanded of Mel

She shrugged, "You never asked. Backstories are complicated, only the bad stories reveal them right in the beginning"

"Now t'at ta't cat 's outta 'er bag, why don't'cha show Fantôme t' project y' were down 'ere fo'?" Roi interrupted, trying to change the conversation topic.

"Project? Mel, is there anything you _have_ told me?" Erik asked seriously.

"Maybe I'm just as mysterious as you are written out to be" she answered teasingly with a wink and a smile. "C'mon, Dad's right. This is something you need to see."

* * *

**A/N: **Wow, can you believe that it's been 30 chapters already?  
Anyways, leave a review and I'm sure to reply ^_~


	31. The Opening Door

**A/N**: Well, this one is _kinda_ on time! ^^';; Anyway, we're nearing The End folks!

**Chapter Thirty One: **The Opening Door.

"Follow me" Mel said, standing up from the table.

"Mel, tell me what's going on, right now." Erik ordered

"No!" she cried, turning down the hallway.

"Aftah you, Fantôme." Roi offered, allowing the Phantom ahead of him as Mel turned the corner and out of sight.

Without warning, she suddenly broke into a run, daring Erik to follow and leaving the poor Phantom to dash haphazardly after her.

"God, she's fast" he remarked, running headlong down the corridor.

"Tha's mah girl!" Roi laughed with pride, "Gotta be tough ta' be an OC, bu' t'en again, you wouldn' know, would'ja, pretty boy?" the King teased

"Wait- what?"

Roi laughed as he sped past, leaving the Fantôme in the dust.

At last, making the final turn he saw both Mel and Roi had finally stopped. Erik bent, his hands on his knees, sweat collecting behind his mask.

"Is this…?" he panted, "What you wanted me to see?"

Mel nodded silently, in some strange reverence to what lay before her.

Across the hallway was a massive door carved out of fine mahogany and bolted all the way up between the two panels. There were more locks than he could count, wooden locks more ancient than anyone could remember at the base, rusted ones falling off the wood higher up, tarnished brass even higher until he saw 'modern' steel ones that The Author used at her apartment, even some that seemed strangely futuristic in a glistening silver metal.

Hewn into the surface of the wood was a single word in more languages that could ever be known:

故事

_Kuwneto_

_Történet_

物語

_Story_

"Wha- what is this?" Erik stammered with wonder

"As it turns out, you were right. There is a way out of Fiction to Reality. And this is The Door"

"The- The Door? A real- physical _Door _out of Fiction?" he cried, "How is this even possible?"

"It's always existed somewhere in every story, sometimes it's just a normal door that the Readers never see and the Authors never bother to describe and sometimes it's hidden right there in plain sight. If the Shadow Queen had taken one step deeper through the Thousand Year Door…"

"Th' point is, Fantôme is tha' this could be th' escape you're lookin' fo'" Roi explained plainly

"Great! Let's do it!" Erik shouted, rubbing his hands together gleefully.

"It's not that easy," Mel smiled a bit wistfully, pressing her fingertips to the wooden surface. One of the words written in blocky symbols began to glow at her touch, one of the ancient locks slowly creaked open. "It feeds on narrative energy to open. Once the story has poured out all of the energy it can give, the door will open wide and the characters will be released. Before, I was feeding it some unused chapters I swiped from The Author's, she had some not-so -happy endings planned for us, but recently, that started running out so I had to give it some of the actual story's energy, compromising some of the story quality."

"The story quality's been pretty decent, I don't know what you're-"

"Raoul plot arc."

Erik visibly shuddered.

"Exactly. So I was thinking what would happen if some plot-shakingly amazing happened, something that would change everything. Maybe all these locks would open."

"How big are you talking? An M-Rated sex scene big?"

Mel gasped, "Oh, god no! Not that! I was thinking maybe, I dunno… chandelier-shattering big"

"Wh-what?"

"What do we have to lose, Erik? You're putting together an opera in the minor details no one reads, so we'll follow the original Phantom plot. You force the management to put it on and then bring down the house… literally"


	32. Nora's Daughter

**A/N: **An update? I know, I'm just as surprised as you! Anyways, here's a Christmas-ish chapter for my readers, it's very sad- here's your warning- but it has plenty of gratuitous French that hides a Legend of Zelda and _A Knight's Tale _reference as well as the _tweest_!  
Happy Whatever You Celebrate!

**Chapter Thirty Two: **Nora's Daugher.

Mel sighed and stared into the floral abyss she clutched in her hands. She did this every year and she could do it again. Christmas in the opera's basement was wonderful, thanks to Erik's careful attention to holiday details. A beautiful tree sat beside the organ, trimmed up with sparkling ornaments and twinkling ropes of tinsel; presents, waiting to be opened lived comfortably under the roof of pine needles. However, before gifts, before the Christmas feast, before everything could be all right, she found herself standing before one among the rows upon rows of tombstones.

"Her name was Rêve down here, but… only I knew her real name at the time, Nora"

She desperately wanted to say _I know, Dad, you say this every year_, but like every other year she kept quiet.

"I wasn't there when you were born, I was in prison at the time, but oh-! Your mother said that when she first held you, you sang like any beautiful voice she could name! And that, my love is why she wanted to call you Mélodie."

Snow fell around the graveyard in soft, gentle flakes, blanketing the tombstones with the sudden age of dust.

Roi took his daughter's hand.

"She was olive-skinned and her eyes were as rich and sweet as chocolate" he remembered softly, examining the color of Mel's fingers with a gentle thumb. "I still wonder how you got this pale, my love. She wasn't as light as you are"

"Actually, it was the sickness that made her so dark. She told me, 'I was pasty as you at one time and when it snowed, no one could find me!'"

He laughed, "Oh yes, Rêve the Snow Maid!" He sighed, "Those were the days…"

Mel broke away from Roi's clutch and bent to place the now-frosted bouquet beneath the rough-hewen stone, messily wiping the snow from its face.

_RIP RÊVE D'REDEVANCE  
1808-1865  
A LOVING MOTHER AND WIFE_

A clanking of soldiers clambered down the hill to the gravesite, its apparent leader kneeling deep into the snow.

"_Votre Majesté, _an intruder, reportedly wearing _green_ has been spotted within the castle, we've secured the treasury but we need you to handle the culprit."

"_Par ma tante vertige, _Lien, why won't you ever use the front door?" Roi shook his head. "I'm sorry, Mel, but I have to take care of this"

"Right, and I have to get home before Erik has a fit."

"Well… goodnight then, Melodie"

"G'night, Dad."

Then, there was silence. Roi and the company were gone. Snow continued to fall all over the graveyard, now in spiteful, sugary clumps.

"I know you're there."

Erik sighed, appearing from behind one of the thicker, snow-laden trees. "Am I really getting that predictable?" He asked.

"No, I'm just getting better at knowing your tricks" Mel replied, her gaze still awash in the snow-stained name on the stone.

"_Rêve_" he read aloud, "I remember her. She had the baked goods store on Rue St. Francis, the best cookies in all of Paris, I swear."

"She was also my mother."

"Oh! Oh…" A shadowy arm swept around her, "I'm so sorry, Mel."

"It was five years ago… I always come down here on Christmas because it was her favorite holiday. She would bake for weeks, pies, cookies, cakes, the whole house would smell like fresh gingerbread for at least a month. Now I can't believe she's gone."

"It's okay, Mel. Shhhh" he whispered.

"I'm fine, Erik." She replied, shrugging off his comforting, smothering arm. "We should go. Tomorrow's the day."

"The- the what?"

"I don't know about you, but I'm getting the hell out of here. Mom said I was destined for somewhere else. I thought she just meant topside to the city. But we're going farther than Paris."

**A/N: **Dun. Dun. Friggin'. Dun.  
Reviews always make updates happen faster and you like updates, don't'cha?


	33. Drops

**A/N: **Whoa, has it been forever? I haven't updated since Christmastime, jeez! Anyway, this chapter is a little heavy, delving into some personal issues as well as some pre-battle fanservice. Le Squee. By the way, if anyone can guess what movie I just watched (and totally gave me the idea to write this chapter), you win a secret bonus bit with some Added Alliterative appeal. (**HINT: I'm imagining Erik with some schmexy Hugo Weaving voice right here**). Anyways, enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Three: **Drops.

Mel sat on the living room couch, watching, waiting, her eyes following the lapping waves of the dark lake water. Tomorrow was the day. After hours and hours of planning, plotting, there was nothing left to do but wait. Tomorrow, the chandelier would crash and she and Erik would be free.

"Can't sleep?" he asked, suddenly behind her, handing her a steaming cup of hot cocoa.

She shook her head. "No," she replied, her hands trembling to the point of nearly spilling.

"You should" Erik remarked, "You need your rest."

"Big day tomorrow." She agreed, tentatively touching the pendant at her neck. "I just think I'm too nervous. What if something goes wrong?"

"It won't" he promised, taking her hand and squeezing, "I know it won't. You planned it yourself, there's no way it could go wrong."

"Erik, we're fighting a _God_ here! It doesn't matter how well I plan anything, if Meg wants us to lose…"

Erik brought her hand up to his lips, "We won't lose, Mel. I promise."

:::

Damn it all! DAMN IT ALL! How could they even- they don't even understand! _Characters cannot manifest into the real world! __**They have no physical being!**_ What do they think this is, _Enchanted_? It doesn't work that way- IT DOESN'T-

_SLAM!_

"Honey, I'm home." A voice- _the voice _called out from the doorway downstairs.

"Erik…" the Author breathed as he mounted the stairs, "How lovely to see you again."

"Wish I could say the same." He replied.

"Our OC has been making some real progress, I see. Her plan seems solid enough." She nodded, staring over the table lined with half-dead house-plants, through the window and to the empty streets below.

Erik shook his head, not willing to object to the 'our' part of that. "That's what I came to speak with you about. I know that you intend to thwart our plans- Mel's plans in every way you can, but I am telling you now that I- we have something that you cannot possibly beat. Something not only _you_ know exists, or at the very least allow. We will win, Meg."

"I know you will."

"_What?_"

"Your story is coming to an end, whether I like it or not. Come to think of it, it's probably what was meant to be all along."

"So you won't fight us?" Erik asked hopefully.

"Oh, heavens no! I'll be fighting you two tooth and nail, I'm not letting you off that easily!" Meg smiled and turned to face the Phantom. "But whether that's for your benefit or mine is yours to decide. You need the narrative energy to open that door, something only a massive finale can accomplish."

_Now that she's back in the atmosphere  
With drops of Jupiter in her he-e-e-ea-d_

"What's that?" the Author asked, bewildered.

"Fanservice, I believe, my dear" Erik replied.

_She talks like summer and walks like rain,  
Reminds me that there's a time to change ey-ey-ey…_

"B-but I didn't-"

A leather fingertip at her lips silenced her. "I know. "

She took the offered hand.

_Tell me did you sail across the sun?  
Did you make it to the milky way to see the lights all faded?  
And that heaven is overrated…_

_But tell me, did you fall for a shooting star?_  
_One without a permanent scar?_  
_And did you miss me while you were looking for yourself out there?_

"Erik, I… I'd forgotten what it was like to dance with you."

"It has been a long time, hasn't it?"

"There's been so much growing up to do… fantasies of a fictional Phantom aren't exactly what women my age are supposed to do…"

"I know it, my love. I know. Which is why we should both be grateful our story is coming to an end."

_Now that she's back from that soul vacation  
Tracing her way through the constellation ey-ey…_

His icy lips pressed gently to her forehead.

Meg didn't know what to say.

"Please, Erik. Go back to her." She said at last. "Be with her. It's where you belong now."

* * *

**A/N: **Final note for would-be copyright snipers (and not the cool TF2 kind) "Drops of Jupiter" © 2001 by Train.


	34. Beginning of the End

**A/N: **I don't want to know how long it's been since I've updated! Nobody tell me! It hasn't been the better part of a year, _la-la-laaa not liiiisteniiinnggg_!  
So, originally, I'd planned to have this finished before I graduated high school. That... didn't happen.  
BUT I am almost done! There isn't much left, kids!  
Enjoyyyy!

* * *

**Chapter 34: **Beginning of the End

Roi stumbled into the control booth, sweat-soaked and clutching at a spot of blood on his arm.

"Dad!" Mel shouted, leaping out of her seat, but Roi shook his head.

"Mélodie, drop d' chandylier," he growled, "Don' worry abou' me, jus' _drop d' chandylier!_"

"But Erik hasn't given the signal yet! It's not even halfway through the first chapter yet!" she protested.

"D' Autha', she is grasping dangerously at deese straws. We can' be sure if d' plot will even last tha' long."

Mel stared at the thick knot of rope secured tightly over a metal knob. Between her, Erik and Roi, it was the work of a few hours to climb up to the other three booths, fight off either the opera's or the Author's guards and untie the supports. Now, this was the only one left. The huge, ten-thousand-kilogram chandelier, the skirt of a thousand crystals swinging serenely, harmlessly over the audience was hanging almost literally by a thread.

Mel placed both hands on the heavy knot and slipped it over the knob.

"Let's go." Roi pronounced, leading her away from the backdrop of screams in the theater.

He quickly brought her out of a hidden exit, past the utterly incompetent and historically inaccurate Paris police, down a narrow alleyway and through what looked like an abandoned house, empty save for a single staircase in the floor. Mel smiled; she used this entrance many times before.

Down the stairs was a massive door carved out of heavy wood, with a long row of ten round holes descending from below the doorknob and no keyhole in sight.

Roi reached for his huge, jangling keyring, heavy with the means of opening just about everything in his Court. Quickly, he picked out a small, thin cylinder, shoving it into the fourth then second hole.

The door swung open.

"Come on!" Roi called, racing off as Mel followed.

Mel didn't have time to be frightened as she usually was of the low ceilings and close, moist walls of the tunnel, dashing off after her father into the depths of the underground Court.

Just as they were about to reach the door at the end of the tunnel, a host of the Miracle Guard in the Author's colors of purple and turquoise cut them off.

"Halt!" one of them ordered.

Mel panicked. She was no good in a fight, no matter how much Erik tried to convince her to spar a little or how many bad kung-fu movies she'd watched with Meg in her semi-delirious state.

"_FOR D' CHARACTAH'S!_" Roi shouted, unsheathing the faux-golden sword from his side in one smooth motion and leaping into the ensuing fray.

Before she found herself in trouble, a pair of hands grabbed Mel from behind, pulling her into the space of one of the tiny side-tunnels.

"Erik!" she cried, recognizing him at once.

"Shh!" he shushed her, "We have to hurry, come on!"

"But what about Dad?" she asked helplessly as she was tugged along.

"He'll be fine, the Author wouldn't dare kill him off."

"How do you figure?"

"She likes his accent too much. Come on, we have to hurry!"

* * *

**A/N: **Ahhh, reviews will make me mad happy although with any luck I might have another chapter tomorrow. Nice a' me, innit?


	35. Rupert Giles Overture

**A/N: **So, updating some more, because I can...

* * *

Out of breath and muscles in full protest, Mel stumbled her way up the stairs behind Erik, tumbling into the small library of the Court of Miracles.

After spending so many hours here as a child, she already knew the tiny room held only mostly the books that weren't worth selling, random bits of unfashionable fiction and books on random, unhelpful topics like the formulas of ancient Japanese paints or novel-writing. Now she'd wished she'd read that one, but there was no time to stop and look at it now.

Mel and Erik made their way to the door of the darkened room, but stopped when they noticed someone- some stranger leaning against the table in the room's center, an open book in his hand.

"Ah, hello there!" the stranger called pleasantly, his thick British accent reminding her of a favorite actor in the opera. "So glad you made it this far!"

"Who are you?" Mel asked.

"I am Rupert Giles, friend of the Author's, I assume you'd gather. Unfortunately, I have been installed here to stop you."

"Stand down." Erik growled.

"Ah, no. I will do no such thing, I'm afraid," Giles replied, pushing his wire-framed glasses up the bridge of his nose, "In order to pass through here and make your way to the 'Palace', you must correctly answer three of my riddles. Terribly… _traditional_, wouldn't you say?"

"We're not here to play games!" Mel shouted.

"This is no game, sorry to say. I hold the only key to that door and I highly doubt the Author would allow me to lose them should you resort to physical force, as unrealistic as it may be. Now, the first riddle is for the lady, she alone may answer it.

"_What always runs but never walks, often murmurs, never talks, has a bed but never sleeps, has a mouth but never eats_?"

_Alright,_ Mel thought, _Let's think of the parts here. What runs? An athlete? But they can walk. A program? Those don't 'walk'. Maybe it's someone's nose. Ew. Alright what about the bed? I'm guessing that means that it isn't a bed in the traditional sense. Maybe a truck bed or a- oh! Oh, that's a good one._

"A river!" Mel cried.

Giles nodded, "Very good. I am quite impressed. Now, for you, good sir,

"_The more you have of it, the less you see_. What is it?"

"Darkness," Erik answered simply.

"Short answer, short riddle, very good, very good. This final one is for the both of you, you may work out the answer together,

"_What is something that cannot be measured until it is tested  
Cannot be held, but felt when rested  
Said to be patient and perfect and kind  
and blind._"

"That sounds familiar, like a quote or something," Erik mused, "Where have I heard that before?"

Mel smiled a warm grin, "I think I know."

"Are you sure?" he asked, "You have to be positive here, Mel."

"I am. Positive."

"Have you your answer?" Giles asked.

Mel nodded and slipped her hand into Erik's. "Love," she said, squeezing their intertwined fingers "Your answer is 'Love'."

Giles nodded, seeming serious, but delight danced in his silver eyes, "You are correct. Unfortunately for the Author, that was the third riddle, and I've been told to grant you passage."

He snapped the book shut in his hand and stood up from the table, moving out of their path.

"Please do proceed," he nodded.

Erik smiled a bit wistfully at Mel, gave her hand a second squeeze and let it drop.

Together, they proceeded towards the door, which opened into a small corridor, dark and dreary in gray concrete. On the far wall were two doors, a left and right, exactly identical.

"Which one should we take, do you think?" Mel asked, gravitating towards the right door.

"We can always mark our way if we take the wrong turn," Erik said, making his way to the left.

Suddenly, something rumbled beneath their feet, and without warning, a massive steel wall rocketed towards the ceiling, separating them.

* * *

**A/N: **Just proving that cliffhangers NEVER get old!


	36. Of Sorcerers and Morons

**A/N:** Welp, we're winding down folks! Hope y'all enjoy!

* * *

"Mel! _MEL_!" Erik shouted, pounding on the wall, throwing his body against it, anything and everything in a desperate attempt to get to her.

"Erik, calm down!" Mel growled, suddenly so far from the girl who shattered mirrors with her voice and angst alone. "Just go through your door and we'll meet up. You know these passages through here as well as I do, even the Author isn't sure about some."

"Mel-"

"Just trust me, alright? We're bonded characters, they can't keep us apart for long," she assured him.

Erik sighed. "If you say so."

"I do. The faster you get going, the faster we'll be together! So go!"

She heard his door slam shut before muttering to herself, "I love you."

Her door opened into a long, dark, windowless hallway, although she could faintly make out a point of light, an open door perhaps. She ran, racing towards that light

She was right, it was a door which opened up into her father's training hall, a huge chamber with an incredibly high ceiling and small, raised windows along the perimeter of the top of it, letting in as much of the unnatural underground light of the Court in.

In the middle of the chamber was a man with short, dark, wavy hair wearing a bright yellow doublet jacket, somehow standing on a mass of cloud.

"You must be Mel," the man said with a smile, "You may call me Rhys. I am your next challenge."

…

Erik ran through the doorway that lead into a long, windowless hall.

The door closed tightly shut with a resounding click of a lock behind him, the exit ahead seeming just as well-locked ahead.

"Aw, look at this! Look at _you!_" a voice called out, echoing down the hall "Man alive, I thought she was _joking_ when she said it was gonna be you but look at you! You're 'im! The real, live _Phantom of the Opera_!" the voice babbled on.

Erik searched wildly along the expanse of dark gray hallway, trying to find the source of the voice.

_Another challenge?_ He thought.

"Who are you? Show yourself!" he demanded.

Suddenly, his eyes fell on a small, metallic light fixture hanging from a groove track in the ceiling, its single blue light rolling around in its socket.

"Ah, you must forgive me," the lamp seemed to say as it slid down the track, "You can call me Wheatley, and ahh, I'm in charge of watching you while Agent Peacock tries to ummm… respectfully take down your girlfriend."

"What in God's name are you?" Erik finally asked, exasperated and exhausted already.

"I am a Personality Core! They made _tonnes_ of us back in the good ol' days of the facility- although for you, I guess they'd be the good _new_ days or something like that. So, while we're here, do you have any _questions_, anything you'd like to know, anything I can maybe help you with?"

Erik pinched the bridge of his nose and screwed his eyes shut for a moment, "I have no idea what's going on. What can you tell me?"

"Hmmm, yes," the core seemed to ponder this for a moment with a slow nod, "Well, you see about _her_, she has some ahh, special _feelings_ for certain characters, almost like crushes. So, for your _ultimate undoing_, she's picked out three of 'em, ones from her childhood that she really had a thing for and offered them each their own story for whichever one took you all down. Inn' that nice of 'er? I've already gotten a story out of 'er, and seeing as I'm her current favorite, she thought it would be wise to put me in charge of things while she pays some attention to your girlfriend's defeat in the other test chamber. Well- not test chamber, she told me not to call 'em that any more."

"_You're_ her favorite right now?" Erik asked, letting that part sink in, "_You_?"

"Uhh, yes, actually. I am," he nodded, the lower lid of his optic lifted with amusement, "Not positive how long it will last, but I have some high hopes, you know? She's already shown that she has a thing for ditzy, blue-themed British characters and ahh, she generally treats her characters well, not a whole lot of _killing off_ or anything unnecessary like that these days, now that she isn't some _gothic emo_ kid any more, no more _My Chemical Romance _fanfiction. Lots of _hugging_ and _holding_ and making _sheep's eyes_ and all that. As her favorites, we've got it pretty good, pretty good, yeah!" he nodded.

"Pfft, says you." Erik scoffed.

Wheatley shook from side to side, "Considering what the _fandom_ does on your end, you out to be a bit grateful, don't'cha think?"

"I think I'd be better off without any of this fan-nonsense, thanks."

"You don't even know, mate! I mean, look at you! All _rich_ and _mysterious_ and _dashing_ and all that! You've got it good! You don't even know what the fangirls do to me!"

Before Erik could stop him, the core thought he ought to demonstrate.

"Look, I'm a human!" he cried in a high-pitched voice.

Suddenly, a tall, lanky figure with red-brown hair and thin, round glasses stood in the hallway.

"Look, I'm a core! Look, I'm an android!"

A mass of black-and-white plastic with the core's single blue eye stood hulking in the space of the hall.

"Now I'm a core again! See? At least you have a bit of _identity_, whereas my own fangirls on the other hand…"

"I get it." Erik growled in frustration, not wanting to explain his own various incarnations and set the robot talking again. "I ought to make a potato battery out of you," he mumbled.

Wheatley either didn't notice or ignored this, until he suddenly spoke up, "Ahhh, just received signal saying that the battle is over and she _won_! Somehow your girlfriend _won_ against a high-ranked _sorcerer_ from some fantasy world! Would ya' look at that? Wild!"

The core flipped over on his rig, his optic narrowing with surprise.

"So, door's unlocked, I gotta let you go, but to be honest, the next challenge is a _big_ one. Very difficult, very daunting. I wouldn't blame you if you didn't want to go on."

Erik shook his head and walked past the core, who simply slid along his rail, following along.

"If you don't wanna go on, feel free to sit tight, I'll message for her, and all will be right and good. Although, if you _want_ to risk fictional life and limb, by all means keep going towards that door. Alright, I see you're still going, okay, but I hope you do know that it's _bloody dangerous_ the way you're going! Very, _very_ dangerous!"

Though those next doors was a massive, white chamber covered in perfect blue lines tracing a grid along the walls, floor and ceiling.

In the center of the chamber with his back turned was a man wearing a tight, white suit covered in dizzying patterns of glowing blue designs.

* * *

**A/N:** That's right, you heard me. Wheatley. Fingers crossed that there are some Portal fans still reading this. Writing his little babble pretty much made my week.  
With any luck… ahh, maybe the _real_ Stephen Merchant will umm get wind of this and maybe be really, _really_ impressed and go onto ahh YouTube or something like that and do a uh, _reading_ type of thing aaaand then uhh… give me his phone number. Yeah. That would be cool. Very cool.  
I'm also going out on a limb and guessing that _no one_ will guess Mel's challenger.  
Any guesses for our next challenge?  
Correct answers for either of the above (or Mr. Merchant's phone number) will earn cookies.


	37. Deresolution

**Chapter Thirty-Seven: **Deresolution

Slowly, the challenger reached for something attached to his back, a thin, white disk ringed in many blue lines on its surface.

"Greetings, character," he nodded. "I am TRON-JA-30265. And I fight for the Authors."

…

Mel rounded the final corner, the Door not far now when she suddenly stopped.

There, Meg stood, leaning ever-so-casually against the wall, her tilted form blocking the entirety of the narrow hallway.

"Well, hello there, Melodie, my dear."

…

From the wall to Erik's right, a panel slid open revealing a black disk ringed in violet lights sitting on a clear pedestal. He moved to take it, the lines slowly glowing to life in his hand.

"Prepare yourself," Tron said, the disk he held gaining a deadly-looking edge of light.

Just as Erik could figure out how to do the same, his opponent made the first toss of the Disc War.

The game had begun.

…

"What do you want?" Mel growled, "What have you done with Erik?"

The Author shook her head, "Tisk-tisk! Patience, my dear! Your phantom has his own battle to fight, just as you did."

"Good!" Mel shouted, "He'll win!"

"You think your Erik is so perfect, so infallible?" Meg demanded

…

The blue Identity Disc flew past him, narrowly missing, just barely grazing at his side

…

"He's a flawed character by definition"

…

Before he had time to react, the disc was back in Tron's hand and tossed again in an instant rebound

…

"No match for what he's up against"

…

Erik ducked out of the way just in time, tossing his own disc low to the ground

…

"And probably losing."

…

Tron leapt adeptly over the attack, the disc clattering to the ground.

Erik was helpless to watch as the program flung his disc in one final assault, slamming squarely into the Phantom's chest.

The violet lines of his own identity disc slowly went cold.

…

"You're wrong!" Mel cried furiously.

Meg smiled a sly grin, "You'll see. The fight's over."

…

"Are you going to kill me now?" Erik coughed, bringing himself to his knees.

The program simply returned his weapon to its place between his shoulder blades.

"I ought to. I've derezzed better programs than you." Tron replied simply, "But my User tells me you've passed the challenge."

"Wh-what?" Erik stammered, pulling himself to his feet, "But I lost the fight!"

Tron nodded, "That _was_ the challenge. You stood no chance against me to begin with, although I could have lost if my User commanded me to. But to lose gracefully, that was the challenge at hand."

The phantom shook his head, "How is it that the Author surprises me more and more every day?"

Tron grinned, "The way of the Users," he shrugged. "Programs and characters are not that different, you know. You have your plot and I my code. Although, it seems that you are closer to your Author than Alan-1 and I ever will be."

_Is he _jealous_ about how close I am to Meg? _Erik wondered.

"Take this, brother" the program offered a thin, black baton with a deep ridge in the center, as if it were meant to split down the middle. "And should you ever need me, I'll be listening by an I/O tower."

Erik smiled, "I'll trade you," he replied, handing over his battered identity disc.

"A second disc?" Tron asked as Erik broke open the baton, a lightcycle forming around him, "What am I supposed to do with this?"

"That depends on how our User feels about sequels!" the phantom shouted back as he rode off.

* * *

**A/N: **Ah, foreshadowing, how I love you.  
And yes, I had a crush on Tron when I was like 10. What? Pretty eyes, knight-in-futuristic- aw, who am I kidding? Shut up.  
Also, major, mondo, MAD points to anyone who can guess Mel's challenger from the previous chapter. It's mad obscure.  
Extra credit for Stephen Merchant's phone number too, in case you forgot!

Not much left to go!


End file.
